No More Next Times
by Armadilloi
Summary: The whole 'Sam' thing prompts decisions and regrets. Charah. Realizations and decisions change the direction of many lives, some for the better. You canoneers just stop reading right now.
1. Wham Bam Thank You Sam

NoMoreNextTimes01

A_/N: OK. I admit it. I was bored and I finally watched some __Chuck__ on Hulu. I am appalled. I am boycotting Subway until the brain-damaged, overpaid and uncaring writers put the show back on course. Shaw? Yech. A piece of wood acts better. I am one person. What can I do? I can create my own season 3…bwahaha. OK, Lumberton, OR is a pit, no offense, but if I had 6 months to live I'd move here…it would seem like 6 years. Only two more weeks here and then…Cancun!_

_Disclaimer: I don't own a damned thing but my bad attitude and you couldn't pay me to say 'I own season 3'._

_T/N: I almost missed this and after reading it I almost didn't post it. It's good but it's bad. I know why he didn't say 'goodbye'._

Nik

* * *

**In retrospect**

It was obvious to everyone in the Castle, all 4 of them, that Sarah/Sam had made her decision, her choice, her selection, whatever it might be called, and that it had not been one Charles Irving Bartowski. And he was OK with that. Really, he was.

In his mind, he'd betrayed her in Prague and the thing with Hannah had been a mistake, not only because he couldn't get Walker off his mind but also because he couldn't lie anymore, not to anyone. His confession to Morgan had been a cathartic act and now he was ready to do what had to be done.

The next evening, he and Casey had a long discussion about the spy life and his place in it. He'd asked Casey for advice and the older man had at first told him he didn't give advice but then relented. Chuck had thanked him and then returned to the Castle and cleaned out his locker and gone to the Buy More and repeated his actions and returned to the Castle.

He dialed up General Beckman and requested an immediate teleconference and the General connected from her home.

"Agent Shaw…Bartowski! Is anything wrong? Where is Agent Shaw? Where are the others?"

"General, I'll cut to the chase since you always seem to be in a hurry. Shaw and his vendetta against the Ring, while noble and worthwhile, have destroyed my team. He's going to be stuck here, inside the Castle, since he's known to be in L.A. and there are hunter/killer teams searching for him. He's a target. That makes my team a target, or at least, collateral targets."

"I've spoken with Colonel Casey and he agrees. Shaw has to go. He can do what he does from anywhere. So send him there. He can take Walker as his partner and just do his thing from WitSec or Ganymede. He can task teams to pursue his leads and act on his intel. That leaves us free to do what we should be doing: destroying Fulcrum and the Ring, not running around, half-cocked, responding to local threats against Shaw."

Beckman's eyes narrowed. "Your team, Bartowski? _Your_ team?" She was going to say more but Chuck cut her off.

"Yes, General, Team Intersect. Give us replacement agents and we'll reform our team. We'll be better and more effective without Shaw and his distractions, especially after I return from the concentrated 30-day agent training course you're going to send me to."

"Ha! You already failed once, Bartowski. Why should I bother sending you anywhere but to a hole in Utah or Nevada?"

"Because I can flash at will now. I'm at peace with myself. I've figured out a way around the emotional trigger problem. I can handle it and we need 2.0 in the field in the mind of a capable agent, not some wimpy Buy More tech supervisor. It's what you wanted, wasn't it, General? Well, like it or not, you got it. Me."

"Good Lord…you're serious. You really think you can do this? Shaw has been very instrumental in your progress to date. He's been a mentor and guide for you…"

"Bullshit! He's been controlling things to accomplish his own agenda: taking down the Ring because of his wife's death, not for love of country. And he doesn't care who gets hurt in the process or what other operations he might compromise or disrupt."

Beckman thought about all that she'd heard. There was a lot of truth in it. And a lot of potential.

"Be at the Burbank Executive Air Park at 5am tomorrow morning. A plane will be waiting for you. I'll send Shaw into WitSec and we'll test your theory. I want Walker to stay partnered with Casey. You need…"

"No deal. They both go. She's compromised. She's chosen. She goes with him. She's a distraction and they have a…thing. It's a question of ultimate loyalties and I…don't trust her to make the right decisions any longer."

He disconnected and grabbed his bags and left to explain to Morgan why he quit the Buy More and would be gone for 30 days. He'd leave it up to him to explain things to Ellie. Devon would back him up.

Before waking Morgan he went to tell Casey about the General's decision and thank him for his advice.

"You know Walker's going to want to stay, Chuck. She knows you dumped Hannah and she's hoping that next time…"

"No more 'next time', Casey. What's done is done. She's going with Shaw as his partner. At least you won't have to listen to them having loud and noisy sex anymore, Casey, when you review the internal security tapes. She'll – they'll do well together."

"So, when are you going to tell her so I can be elsewhere?"

"I'm not. Spies come and go without hellos or goodbyes. Why should this be any different? I leave at 5am but first I'm going to fill Morgan in and he can deal with Ellie. Awesome will back him up. I'll see you in a month, Colonel Casey. Behave yourself. Think of it as a vacation from the Nerd." He laughed and left.

Casey started to go back to bed but instead went and found his bottle of 100 Pipers and poured a large glass and sat in the dark for quite a while sipping the single malt and trying to assimilate all that had happened. Walker was going to be pleased and he figured that once again Bartowski had made the right decision but for the wrong reason.

* * *

**CIA Residential Hotel  
6am**

Daniel Shaw woke and scrubbed his face with his hands and looked at his watch. He reached for the room phone and was going to order breakfast when he saw Sam sitting, wrapped in his shirt, looking out the window over Los Angeles. It looked like she'd been crying.

"Sam, what's wrong? Why are you crying? Have I done something to upset you?"

"No, Shaw. I've done something to upset me. This," she waved her hand at the rumpled bed, "was a mistake. I did this for all the wrong reasons, mostly because you were available and I was hurt and vulnerable. I – I never should have told you my name, Shaw. I've been with Chuck for almost 3 years and I haven't even told him my real _middle_ name after years of his badgering and I told you…"

"Sam, please, we're good together. He's just your asset despite being the intersect host. You should never tell him anything true about yourself. It's just not done outside the profession. You know that."

"He's not just my asset and you know it. You know how compromised I am. You saw it. You used it to get me where I am right now. You manipulated situations and people to get what _you_ wanted at the moment…and right now it's me."

"Sam, that's not true…"

"Bullshit. You played me. I'm a pro but you're incredibly better at it than I am. Casey saw it. Chuck saw it. I was blinded by emotional pain and now…it's over, Shaw. Never again. Get out. I have to get ready for work."

"But Sam…"

"No. No Sam. Sarah. Sarah Walker. It's who I'm going to be from now on because it's how _he knows me_. Now, go. I have to get ready. Make sure you get everything that's yours, Shaw, because you won't be coming back."

* * *

**Castle  
8:25am**

Shaw walked out of his room/office and nodded to Casey and went for coffee. Sarah walked down the stairs from the Orange Orange entrance, dressed for work. She looked around and saw Casey but not Chuck.

"Casey, where's Chuck? We have a meeting in 5 minutes and he's not here. You know Beckman has no tolerance for tardiness. The store's not open yet. I'm going to call him."

"Walker, don't. The General will explain everything. Bartowski won't be in attendance."

As if on cue the large plasma screen lit up with the NSA logo and Casey called for Shaw to 'get your ass in here, Shaw'.

They were seated around the table when Beckman connected.

"Good morning, I see we're all in attendance and on time for once. This meeting will be very brief. Agent Shaw, you and Agent Walker are relieved and will report to Burbank Air Park by 2pm to catch the courier plane to DC where you will be debriefed and reassigned to WitSec. You will continue directing efforts to combat the Ring remotely since you've become quite popular in some circles. You and Agent Walker will be undercover as husband and wife."

"But General…" Shaw didn't like this one bit and was prepared to rebut the General when she cut him off at the knees.

"Agent Shaw, you have your orders. Team Intersect is no more. If there are no further objections or questions, I'll speak with Colonel Casey alone."

"General, where's Chuck? What do you mean 'Team Intersect is no more'?" Sarah was staring at the bracelet. She'd worn it hoping Chuck would notice it and she could start a conversation and start rebuilding their shattered relationship.

"Bartowski's whereabouts are of no concern to you, Agent Walker. You have been reassigned. Without Mr. Bartowski there is no intersect and therefore no 'Team Intersect'. You can thank Agent Shaw for the changes. I'm sure you have no objections." Her lips almost curled in distaste but years of dealing with military politics had taught her a thing or two.

General Beckman had spoken to Casey earlier and discussed the situation and Bartowski's analysis. Casey was very supportive of Chuck's position and explained why Chuck was so adamant about Walker's leaving. She wasn't sure if she totally agreed but Casey was very convincing.

"Agents, you are dismissed. I need to discuss restructuring the Burbank Project with the colonel and you have no need to know. Please leave the conference area."

* * *

Sarah walked up to the Orange Orange followed by Shaw. He saw this as an opportunity to continue a relationship with Walker. Until this morning, she'd been very 'enthusiastic' about their physical relationship and he saw no reason why it couldn't continue in WitSec now that Bartowski was out of the picture.

"Sam…" he began but stopped when she whirled and began screaming at him that her name was Sarah, Sarah Walker and that he better learn it because it was her name. Not Sam.

"But Sarah…"

"I'll meet you at the airport, Agent Shaw. You have things to do. I suggest you go do them."

When Shaw had gone back to the Castle and she was sure she was alone she called Chuck's cell. _We're sorry but the number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service. _

She left the Orange Orange and went to her hotel to pack. She thought about finding Morgan and giving him Chuck's bracelet but realized that she couldn't part with it. It was a promise and she wanted him to keep his word.

She wrote him a letter and left it with Casey making him promise to give it to him when he saw him.

"Walker, I don't know when I'll see him again. Things are fluid right now. Leave it and I'll try to get it to him." He could see that she was fighting her emotions and the last thing he needed from her were tears. What he needed was her absence.

"Well, Casey, I'll see you. Maybe next time…"

"No, Sam, no more next times. You're going with Shaw. I just never figured…"

"If you see him, tell him…" but Casey walked away from her and went in to inventory the office to make sure that asshole Shaw hadn't made off with _something else that wasn't his_. It was bad enough he was taking Walker.

She left the Castle for the last time.

* * *

_A/N: Will they find their lost love? Ha! Not if those idiots at NBC have their way. And before anyone says 'you hate Sarah' ask yourself…don't you right now? At least how she's being written? And how they make her look physically? Washed out and pale and whorish? Fire the makeup & wardrobe artists. Better my version than theirs._

_Charah lovers…maybe. Right now I don't like her. But I do understand her better than you think._

_Armor-Plated-Rat_


	2. Dumped in the Desert and Sam Confesses

NoMoreNextTimes02

_**A/N: I sincerely hope the dim one that said I was 'hypocritical' of the show meant 'hypercritical'…lol. Thanks for the responses. **_

Even great writers like Altonish think that the writers have betrayed the fans. We are consumers. Consumers 'buy' what they want, at least for now. Check out 'TV By The Numbers' website. Chuck's 'appeal' is looking like a prelude to cancellation.

T/N: Told ya. He emailed me this. BTW, we're a couple again. I finished. He kept his promise. Nicole.

* * *

Deserted Landing Strip

The usual business jet waiting for him at Burbank Executive Air Park turned out to be an old DC-3 with more miles on it than the Rolling Stones' tour bus and all the windows had been replaced with plastic inserts – opaque inserts. It smelled like its last cargo and he spent the entire flight trying to pin down exactly what the smell was. It wasn't until he was debarking that he noticed the dried brown stains and the coppery smell suddenly clicked and he knew that some cleaner had slacked off and missed a large patch of dried blood.

He froze when he took the first step down the boarding ladder that was integrated into the door and reached for a weapon he wasn't authorized to carry when the pilot pressed the muzzle of the pistol into the back of his neck and pushed him down the ladder.

"Move along, Carmichael. And don't try anything. You'll be met. I don't know when or by whom. It's hot out here so try to find a bush to curl up under. Here's a bag. Everything you'll need is in it. Don't open it until I'm airborne." The pilot threw the bag ten feet from the bottom of the ladder and shoved him roughly down the steps.

Chuck picked himself up and dusted himself off and then grabbed the bag as the pilot pulled the door back up and latched it in place. The pilot revved the engines that had not been shut down and turned the plane back onto the landing strip. The plane accelerated down the strip and was gone leaving him standing in the middle of nowhere with nothing in sight but some distant mountains and the remnants of a hanger.

He hadn't lied to him. It was hot. July in the California desert. Or maybe Nevada. The flight had been 90 minutes long but the plane had made numerous changes in direction and altitude, almost as if it were trying to shake a tail or confuse tracking. He didn't know or care. He took off his tie and suit coat and then opened the bag and took inventory.

Two water bottles, a first aid kit, a compass, a Swiss army knife and a length of nylon rope. Nothing else. He felt around inside the bag and found a small slit in the lining. He fooled around with it and tore the bottom of the bag lining loose and found a folded piece of paper.

It was a map with a note written in hasty longhand: 'Welcome to training. First step - find me!' There was an 'X' indicating the landing strip and a series of compass headings and distances. Great. Way Points. Ten of them. He hoped the distance between them was in kilometers not miles.

He called up Land Navigation from 2.0 and grinned. Piece of cake.

He fiddled with the compass and then shot an azimuth and picked out a landmark and started off counting his paces. Every time he got to 250 steps he picked up a small pebble and put it in his pants pocket.

* * *

He was 'met' at the third way point by a parked Jeep driven by a woman with coal black hair and the bluest eyes Chuck had ever seen. He was only 10 yards off the exact waypoint and after 11 miles he figured that was pretty damned good.

When he got close enough to see her face he flashed. Butterflies, dead bodies, mass graves, burning vehicles, burning buildings, dead fish washed up on a beach, lists of dead and the file closing cue of more butterflies.

"Agent Rico, I'm Charles Carmichael." She eyed him up and down and a small smile played across full lips and a generous mouth. She stepped out of the Jeep and walked towards him. She was dressed in khaki shorts, desert boots and a t-shirt. She stopped about 5 feet from him and reached behind her and pulled out a Bowie knife and assumed an attack posture.

He flashed instantly with none of the usual delays with spinning images and fluttering eyes. He just _knew_ and then he attacked. Five seconds later he was straddling her, her knife pressed against her carotid.

"Explain yourself, Rico. I'm hot and cranky and I really don't feel like wrestling in this heat. Maybe after a few beers we could try between the sheets but not like this. I'm waiting and I'm impatient."

"This week is going to be fun, Carmichael. Get off me and I'll drive you into base camp. Please?" The last word was said with just the hint of amusement but Chuck was not amused.

"Explain yourself, Deena Rico, born 1985 in Laredo, TX, graduated _last_ in your class at the academy and currently between field assignments."

"Orders, Carmichael, orders from the top. 'Challenge him at every turn. Test his limits and determine if he's blowing smoke about his abilities'. Now, get off me. I'm getting my hair dirty. Please, Chuck? Pretty please?" And the smile blossomed across her face turning her from a plain woman into a beautiful one.

He stood and offered her his hand, keeping her knife for the moment. She swatted his hand away and stood and slipped her arm through his and walked them toward the Jeep.

"I'm sorry I was late, Chuck, but I should have known you'd find the map. Beckman said you were resourceful and used to finding and working arcane solutions to problems. I figured I'd get to work on my tan for at least another hour or so. There's water in the back of the Jeep if you need it."

"I'm fine. Didn't even crack the two in the bag. Didn't know what to expect so I was planning on rationing it."

"Good. Keep that mindset and you'll be fine. Now, let's get you fitted out in desert gear and we'll start our first training scenario. You're not afraid of heights, are you?" Her laughter was like rain.

'_Distance, Chuck, distance. Remember, she's a spy and you know how we are. Remember the painful lessons of the past 3 years.'_

'_Shut up, Deuce. Jesus, ever since I got 2.0 you've been nagging at me. I acknowledge your existence and you've become a nag. And what's really bad is that you sound like a girl. Yeah, a woman, maybe 25 or so. What's with that?'_

'_I'm an abstraction, Chuckles. I give you input from the compiled experiences of hundreds of girl spies. I can't be responsible for what you do if you ignore me.'_

'_Well, you sure as hell were asleep at the switch when Hannah and I…'_

'_Hey, I was feeling abused and ignored. Besides, when a man is hard between the legs he's soft between the ears. And you spent a lot of time soft between the ears. Especially with Walker. My word, the images you conjured up in the privacy of your shower when…'_

'_Ack! No more. She's with Shaw. She made her choice and I'm fine with it. Really. Really, I am. She's happy at last. Now, if you really have input of value, I'll listen. If you don't, please stay in background and let me concentrate on the training. Get in the box, Deuce. I need to focus.'_

* * *

**NSA HQ  
****FT Meade, MD**

Walker was in pure agent form. Gone were any traces of the 'Sarah' that once lived in Burbank, and who loved and was loved by a man who gave her everything she could ever have asked for except for one thing.

She wanted NORMAL. She wanted to be a regular girl dating a regular guy. She thought she'd found it but somehow along the way she'd started to become him and he, her. She loved him. He loved her. That much was obvious. But she was losing herself, her identity, as she underwent the slow metamorphosis from spy to girl.

Then he did the unthinkable. And now…all she had were sweet memories and a hollow place in her chest where her heart used to be. She'd been attracted to Shaw for some reason she still couldn't fathom and as she watched Chuck become more and more like the agent he thought she wanted him to be, she saw no reason not to pursue something with Shaw. After all, he'd been pursuing Hannah.

She knew but would never admit that she'd driven Chuck Bartowski away with her mixed signals, hot and cold attitudes and her inability to verbally admit that she loved him. When he finally gave up and started a relationship with Hannah, instead of fighting for him she'd turned her back on 3 years of unconditional love and betrayed him with a single word: 'Sam'.

Daniel Shaw sat across from Sam in the small anteroom that served as the waiting room for the offices of General Diane Beckman. She hadn't so much as uttered a word to him since boarding the plane in California.

She wasn't Eve. He never pretended she was. No one but Eve could be Eve. He'd loved her as Bartowski loved Sarah but with one difference: Eve had not been a _coward_. Eve had returned his love and made his life and theirs a paradise for the short time they'd been together.

No. Sam Walker had simply been a tool he used to force Bartowski into the role of spy so that Shaw could use him and the intersect to destroy the Ring and avenge his beloved Eve's death. He didn't, no, he couldn't love Walker. He was already in love and had no intention of doing more than enjoying her body and attentions while he was in Los Angeles.

Did it bother him that when she climaxed she'd moaned Bartowski's name? No. He didn't care if she'd screamed Beckman's name. He got what he needed and that was all that was important. Walker ceased being necessary when his relationship with Team Intersect was severed. He'd still use her body as often as it suited him but she'd become redundant in his grand scheme. And he'd expend her when the time was right.

Beckman's aide came out and interrupted their musings. "The General will see you now. Please keep your questions relevant and pertinent. The General has a very full schedule today." She ushered them into the office and left, closing the door behind her.

* * *

"Agents, your briefing packages will answer all your questions regarding location and cover. This is purely temporary." She noted Walker's sudden interest and her next sentence gave her a sense of hope that all was not lost.

"When Agent Bartowski returns, there may be changes to the structure of the new team but how that will develop remains to be seen. That is all. Oh, Agent Walker, a moment, please on an unrelated matter. Agent Shaw, please excuse us and see my Chief of Staff. He has some information for you and also your new codes and other information."

Daniel Shaw hated Beckman and her dismissal of him further flamed the fires of hate. He nodded to the General and squeezed Walker's shoulder as if in support and then left to wait for her.

Beckman almost chortled with glee when disgust rippled across her face when Shaw touched her.

"Agent Walker, your conduct in the past few months has been under close review and scrutiny. I thought that after the 49-B assessment and its aftermath your relationship with the asset might have been more supportive and beneficial. He's quite special, Agent, and he needs a special person beside him to guide him and support him. Do you think you're still that special person, the one he thought you were until…Shaw wormed his way into the mix? An honest answer, please. Time is short and I have a very full schedule."

Her mind was in turmoil. What was Beckman really asking? Why did she even care? Was this just another attempt to prove she was compromised? What difference does it make now?

"What difference does it make, General? I'm here, he's there. And Shaw seems to be my new partner. So, what difference does it make if I still feel he's the one…I mean, that I can be what he needs to accomplish the missions?"

"You're wearing Natalie's bracelet. Do you know what it means, Agent Walker? It's more than just a pretty thing, you know. Steve gave it to her and together they added charms to celebrate and mark events in their lives. If you're not the one, then why are you wearing it?"

"It's a symbol, a token, a promise. There was supposed to be some much more but he just had to download the damned 2.0 and be the hero he thought I needed. It all went to shit after that. He wouldn't run with me. He flunked spy school. He was all I ever wanted but now…I just don't know anymore, General. I'm sorry if that's the wrong answer but it's the truth. He taught me that. The truth."

"I see. Well, that is all. Good luck on your new assignment, Agent. Things have a way of working out and what should be – usually is."

Beckman turned back to her monitor and started reading an email. Walker breathed a ragged sigh and started to leave but turned back to face the General.

"I love Charles Bartowski, General. But I made mistakes. He made mistakes. We made mistakes. I tried to do my duty. I drove him away time after time and still he managed to get by all my defenses and he loved me, General, after all I did. And I betrayed that unconditional love and trust with one word, General, just one word."

Beckman looked at her expectantly.

"I want back on the Team, General. Please. I'll do anything to get back to the Team and him. I'll even put up with Shaw until you find a suitable replacement but please, reconsider this assignment."

"That'll be all, Agent. Good day."

Walker left the office without knowing what the General planned but with new hope that she might at least have the opportunity to make things right between them.

* * *

**Joint NSA/CIA Training Base Camp – 'Desert One'**

Chuck laughed when she drove back to the airstrip and stopped. He should have known. Nothing was as it seemed in the spy world.

"What's so funny, Chuck? Care to share?" She liked his laugh. And his smile. And his eyes. She knew he needed a partner and so did she. She wanted back in the game not stationed in the middle of nowhere taunting and training future operatives for the CIA and NSA. She could work with him. He wasn't a prick like some of the trainees who passed through here.

"I should have just waited here and you'd have eventually returned and saved me a hot walk in the desert."

"And you'd have failed the basic entry exam, Chuckles. Be glad you were impatient. Now, close your eyes and make a wish." She liked messing with him. He seemed to enjoy it and gave as good as he got.

Chuck closed his eyes and felt the Jeep lurch and then sink slowly below the surface of the runway apron. An elevator in the desert.

"Now that's way cool, Agent Rico. What did you do, wait until I left on my little trek and then pop up like a 4-wheeled prairie dog and sprint ahead of me?"

"Yep. Where's the fun in just welcoming you to Desert Base? Girl's got to have some distractions." She cut him a sidelong glance. He was grinning from ear to ear and gawking around like a kid at a carnival. Not like most of the uptight wannabes she got in the past.

'_Deena, play your cards right and you'll be able to kiss Desert One goodbye and say hello to active service. He's not going to be an easy mark. You're going to have to work for your freedom. Just don't do anything foolish. Beckman's already warned you. He's a special trainee and if he gets hurt, you're here for the rest of your career.'_

"So, what was it, Chuck?" She stared at him and for just a second he was reminded of how a panther crouches prior to striking its prey.

"Huh? What was what?" She was obviously after something. What, he didn't know.

"Your wish, Chuck. What did you wish for?"

"Whirled Peas, of course."

"I'm serious, Trainee Carmichael. What did you wish for?"

"Peace of mind. Nothing more for now. Right now, that will be enough."

* * *

**A/N: A bit long but I have a plan. Beckman…she's a catalytic character and I think I'll use her and Casey and maybe … yech…Morgan, to drive the undercurrents. Still haven't decided on a fate for them yet. **


	3. The Ark and Other Interesting Places

NoMoreNextTimes03

T/N: I'm flying to Houston to meet my guy so y'all enjoy the first days of spring in the cold. I'll be sipping Margaritas by the pool and doing X-Rated things in Cancun!!!

Nicole Fontenot

* * *

**Joint NSA/CIA Training Base Camp – 'Desert One'**

Deena laughed at Chuck's expression. They all gaped the first time they saw Desert One and he was no exception. She could see his mind cataloguing all he saw, finally arriving at a conclusion.

"This place is an Ark, isn't it? I've heard rumors about them but I didn't think they were real. Armageddon shelters for the politically connected in the event of a nuclear exchange. How big is it? How many trainees do you have now?"

"Yeah, it's an Ark. You're the only trainee. This really isn't the 'entrance', just a maintenance supply access route. Most of the Chosen would have entered through the mines and been brought here by electric tram. Most of it's still sealed up and what we utilize here is minimal."

"So, Deena, what do you do when there are no trainees? Do you go home? I mean, well, hell, this place is in the middle of nowhere."

"I stay here for 60 days and then get 15 days 'home leave' but since I live in Florida now, I generally just hang around and work on my tan and accrue leave. I swim, play video games, the usual stuff."

"Swim? Where?"

"The pool, dummy. There's an Olympic-sized pool down here. You should try it. It's weird knowing you're swimming 200 feet under the surface. We'll give it a go if you survive this afternoon's cycle. Let's get you suited up first. You're not exactly dressed for desert success. Nice suit though. Savile Row?"

"Um, yeah. My ex-girlfriend bought it for me. Kinda messed up now. It'll dry clean though. So where do I get fitted out?"

**2 hours later**

"OK, Chuck. Here's the task. You're over here and need to get over there. You have 4 hours to do it. I'll be on the other side and if you decide to wimp out, you fail. If you fall, you fail…and die. Be safe and have a good time, trainee." She giggled and left in her jeep to meet Chuck 'over there'.

'Over there' was across a canyon carved out eons ago when this area was verdant and a river cut through the soft rock. What was left was a nearly smooth-sided canyon more than 100 feet deep and between 200 and 400 feet wide. Chuck's task was to get across, any way he could.

_'Chuck, you're supposed to be a trainee. This looks like something an experienced climber would hesitate to tackle. How you gonna do it? Remember, if you die, I die and I just got alive.'_

_'I'm open to suggestions, Deuce. What do your 200+ female agent integrated memories say?'_

_'We're all gonna DIEEEE!'_

'_Thanks bunches, Deuce. Get back in the box. God save Ireland you're worse than Morgan.'_

He'd figured out almost immediately that the 'trainee' cycle was more of a test of his abilities to utilize the knowledge in the Deuce Intersect than true training. Fine. He'd use what he had.

He flashed and suddenly laughed out loud. It was so simple. He took the pitons, ropes and various carabineers and started down. Once he'd set the pitons, he simply fast-roped down to the bottom and then flicked the rope loose. This next part was the challenge.

Two and a half hours later Chuck wearily poured out the remainder of his water bottle all over a sleeping Deena Rico, enjoying her sputtering shriek of surprise.

"Scenario completed within established parameters, Agent Rico. Let's hit the pool, Deena, and then you can cook me a fine dinner."

"Not a bad time, Chuck. Not bad at all. But sorry, no din-din. Training Scenario Two has now begun. There's a rucksack in the back of the Jeep. I'll see you in two days. Be safe." She started the Jeep and drove off leaving Chuck in the dust. He inventoried the rucksack and cursed loudly and effusively for several seconds. No water and he'd been stupid and pulled a childish stunt by pouring what little remained over his sleeping instructor. Now he was going to pay a heavy price.

The note was simple and to the point. Return and gain entry to the Ark without setting off any security alarms. Entry must be made within 48 hours of instructor's departure.

He looked back over the canyon and sighed. To get to the Ark he had to cross it again. It would save 20 miles of walking since it had taken Rico 45 minutes to drive around the canyon and reach the side across from where he'd started his climb down. Shit.

* * *

Four hours later Chuck pulled himself up over the lip of the canyon and collapsed in a pile of sweaty trainee. He would gladly give Morgan to the Ring in exchange for a bottle of water. Well, Morgan wasn't here and people in hell craved ice water. He sat up and took a survival bar from his ruck and set off at a ground-eating pace for the back door of the Ark. He'd flashed on the floor plans and architect's specs and knew of at least two other 'emergency egress' ports that probably weren't covered by the security systems. He'd be in the pool before midnight.

**Transient Agents Guest Quarters**  
**NSA Headquarters**  
**FT Meade, MD**

It had been a long and grueling day and all she wanted was to soak in a hot bath and review the events of the day and plan her return to the Team. She waited impatiently for Shaw to park their pool car and bring in her bag so she could complete registration and check-in.

"Agent, we have a small suite with sitting room and bath and…"

"No! Two singles, please. The less time I have to spend with Superduperman the better." She motioned to the clerk and whispered, "Please tell him all you have are singles, please?"

"Sure, Agent, I understand completely." She winked at Walker and nodded sagely. "Sometimes the Agency is heartless, isn't it?"

"Oh, yeah. And sometimes, so are Agents."

Shaw came in with the bags, wet from the sudden rainstorm and angry with Walker for treating him like her valet. Well, things would be put back into their proper place once they were alone. _He_ was the senior agent, after all.

Walker pulled her wheeled bag to the elevator and pushed 'UP' and waited for it…4…3…2…1

"What do you mean, all you have left are singles?"

She smiled and gave herself an imaginary high-five and got on the elevator. Unlike the Fallen One, she believed it was better to serve in Heaven than to reign in Hell.

**Joint NSA/CIA Training Base Camp – 'Desert One' Pool**

Deena had just completed her 10th lap and had paused for a breather. She rested her chin on her arms on the side of the pool and wondered if Carmichael was OK. She liked him. He seemed so normal, not at all what she'd been told to expect by General Beckman. He was neither moody nor brooding although after the trick she'd pulled on him back at the canyon she wouldn't be surprised if 'pissed' would be an apt descriptor.

She started her next set of 10 laps when the lights went out and the cavern where the pool was located became inky black. The small safety lights in the bottom of the pool were the only source of light. The pool no longer seemed welcoming and the center seemed black and forbidding. Shaking off the surprise at her response, she started to get out of the pool but was suddenly dragged back down by her ankle. She started to scream but a hand over her mouth squelched any sound.

"Shhh. Sorry, didn't mean to frighten you. Just figured I'd get even with you for that stunt at the canyon. I'm going to release you now. Please don't kill me, Deena. I'm sorry if I frightened you."

She turned around in the circle of his arms. "Bartowski, you bastard! How the hell did you make it back here so soon? And was it you who cut the lights? You scared the hell out of me."

"Shhh. They'll be back on in a few minutes. I just set a loop on the panel to switch them off when I figured I'd be poolside. No big deal. Go ahead and get out. I'm going to enjoy the cool water for a while."

"Chuck, I need you to turn around, please. I need to get out of the pool."

"Fine. Go ahead. Can't see anything in this light. Your bikini skimpy?" He wondered about the woman under the trainer's garb.

"Please, Chuck, just turn around. I need to get out of the…" The lights came back on and Chuck was treated to the delightful sight of a naked Deena Rico treading water near the side of the pool. From what he could tell before she started covering up places he'd much rather she didn't, she was definitely a female.

"Shit. Sorry. Turning around, Agent Rico." He laughed and then was relieved to hear her answering chuckle. "That's what I get for skinny-dipping during a training cycle. Meet me in the cafeteria in 30 minutes for dinner and debriefing."

* * *

**Casa Bartowski/Grimes  
****Burbank, CA**

"Morgan, tell me again, slowly and without all the gamer embellishments. Where is my brother? And Devon, you keep quiet. I want to hear what the Bearded One has to say. Speak, Morgan, or you've had your last free meal at Chez Ellie's."

"This is what, Ellie, the third time? No, the fourth. Captain, third or fourth time?"

"I think it's the fourth time, Morg. Yeah, the fourth…"

"Devon…so help me if you don't shut up…you can sleep on the couch."

"OK, Ellie. For the fourth time, Chuck got a job with the government. I think he's going to be doing some hush-hush programming or something like it for the government. He got the job because they needed someone in an embassy in Europe to fix some secret stuff that got a virus. He had to leave immediately or they'd find someone else. He said the money and the opportunity to travel were just too awesome to pass up."

"So when's he coming back? Why didn't he call me and why is his cell disconnected? I see the Orange Orange is closed. How convenient. He leaves and Sarah Walker leaves. Tell me the truth, Morgan, are they together? Did they elope?"

"I can tell you that they are definitely not together and marriage…no, Ellie, marriage is so unlikely that I'll get married before Chuck does."

Ellie thought about a Married Morgan and shuddered.

"OK. Fine. When's he coming back?"

"I don't know, Ellie, and I don't think he knew when we talked about it. All I know is that he was more excited about this opportunity than I've seen him be in a long time."

"Yeah, he has been kinda in a rut lately, Ellie, you have to admit. You've even commented on his recent problems after the great break with Sarah and then the whole Hannah thing." Devon was supporting Morgan despite her threats. He owed it to Chuck.

"And it's not just one embassy that has the problem. I think he said all the embassies have similar problems and need his expertise. He did say he'd be 'out of touch' until the government got him a special phone that's encrypted. Hush-hush stuff, Ellie. My best friend is going 'undercover'. How cool is that?"

"I still think he shoulda told me. I'm his sister. He's my little brother. He knows how I'll worry. That is just so not Chuck."

* * *

**_A/N: Unless she's slacking off and daydreaming of Cancun, you should be reading this Friday or Saturday. Sunday we're meeting in Houston and spending her Spring Break in Cancun. _**  
_**APR**_


	4. Crushed Nuts Bourbon Chicken Guests

NoMoreNextTime04

T/N: I don't type anymore, just edit. Thx for the reviews while we were gone. No more travelling for us for a while. Finishing school and finding a job. He's 'retired' again. Lemee see that's twice now. 42 and done already. He still doesn't have the p-word. NOW he says he doesn't want it. hahaha. Cancun was nice, some rain, mostly room shine if you know what I mean.

* * *

**Joint NSA/CIA Training Base Camp – 'Desert One'  
****Cafeteria**

She cooked spaghetti. No sauce, just noodles. No salad. Chuck looked at his plate and then at her and then at his plate again. Carefully picking up his plate and a fork he walked over to the trash bin and scraped off the plate.

"Disgusting. Show me the fridge. And then go someplace for 90 minutes. Jesus, do you eat crap like this every night? No wonder your attitude sucks. Be gone. I'll expect you in an hour and a half. Bring your appetite. We'll debrief then. Also, where the hell is your beer and booze?"

Deena looked like she was going to break down in tears. She couldn't cook. She'd been living on MREs but didn't want him to have to suffer 'Meals Rejected by Ethiopians'. Now she felt…inadequate and useless. She hadn't felt this way since high school.

"Don't start bawling, Deena. Just go… do something." He hadn't meant to hurt her feelings but he was hungry and this…this crap was not going to get it.

* * *

**Transient Agents Guest Quarters  
****NSA Headquarters  
****FT Meade, MD 2am**

She was pulled from a restless sleep by the ring-tone of her cell. She'd have to figure out how to change it. It was another one of the infiltrations she'd allowed during her time in Burbank. She really didn't need the cruel reminder of her loss.

"Hello?"

"Sam, it's Daniel. I – I – miss you, baby and I can't sleep. Can I come over? Or would you rather come over here? Please, Sam. We need to resolve these issues if we're going to be…"

"It's Sarah, blockhead. No, I don't want to see you. You make me feel…ashamed. This partnership is doomed and you know it. I've already asked Beckman to send me ho…I mean back to Burbank. It's late and I need to sleep. Do what you want with your time. I'm done talking to you."

"Like it or not, Agent Walker, I'm senior agent and I'll decide where you go. Now, get your ass over here and let's discuss these issues like adults. 48 hours ago you were grunting and moaning with me between your legs and now you're like some…manikin going through the motions. 48 hours ago you were a bitch in heat and rutting with pleasure and now you're mooning over some loser who's on borrowed time anyway. I'll see you in five minutes. Don't bother dressing for me, Sam."

Walker got up slowly, unsure of what to do. Her eye caught the flash of silver about her wrist and she knew. Quickly throwing on a sheer nightgown she'd bought when she and…no. No more thinking about the past. She ran a brush through her hair and put on a deep red lipstick and left her room and walked barefooted down the hall and knocked quietly at the door of Agent Shaw's room. It opened almost immediately.

"Sam…"

"Daniel…"

She walked in and he closed and locked the door.

* * *

**Joint NSA/CIA Training Base Camp – 'Desert One'  
****Cafeteria**

She followed her nose back to the cafeteria and found plates with bourbon chicken, new potatoes and a salad waiting for her.

"Marry me, Charles Carmichael. Cook for me every night and I'll be your love slave." She hadn't eaten anything this good in months. Not since she'd driven into the little town 40 miles north of the Ark and treated herself to dinner and a movie.

"Nope. Don't believe in marriage. Don't believe in love either. It's all bullshit. Especially in the spy business. Now, finish eating and lets get moving on the debriefing. And then I have questions about the remaining scenarios. I have a tight schedule and I need to move on to the next training phase. I think it's the parachute course but Beckman didn't exactly provide me with a curriculum listing. I just call a number and the plane picks me up at an appointed time."

"You've got 2 more days here and then you move on to Air/Sea Ops. Don't be in such a hurry, Charles. There's an 80% failure rate here and almost 90% in the next phase. If you think today was tough, tomorrow will probably be a killer, literally."

The debriefing lasted twenty minutes and consisted of identifying the flash sequences, their impacts and problems, physical responses and evaluation of the overall effectiveness in measuring the utility of the intersect. It was very dry and very boring as well as being repetitive. By 1am they were both yawning and called it a night. She pointed him to his room and left him to his own devices.

* * *

**Transient Agents Guest Quarters  
****NSA Headquarters  
****FT Meade, MD 2:15am**

She closed the door to Shaw's room quietly and walked to the concession area and found the ice machine. She loaded the plastic ice bucket and returned to his room.

"Here, Daniel, ice them down. Maybe you'll be able to walk in the morning. I don't care. Talk to me like that again and I'll cut them off not just knee you in the groin. I'm an agent of the Central Intelligence Agency and I am in my prime. What I do with my personal life is just that – personal."

"He's not a loser. He's the man I'm going to marry if he'll come to his senses. I made a mistake but so did he. You were my mistake. Hannah was his but I really can't blame either of us, y'know? Never speak of him again unless it's with the utmost respect, understand? Nod, Daniel. I can't understand you when you moan."

"Ohhhhhh…"

"I'm going back to my room now. I'll see you in the morning. This never happened, Shaw, and we'll not speak of it again." There was no answer, of course.

* * *

**Joint NSA/CIA Training Base Camp – 'Desert One'**  
**Chuck's Room 4am**

Rico pounded on the door of his room. Dressed in boxers and a t-shirt and still groggy from sleep, he threw open the door and glared at her. "Deena, you do realize that it's 4am and it's only been a few hours since we wrapped up the last scenario, don't you?"

She was dressed in a tank top and running shorts and her desert boots. She was carrying 2 MP-5s and a brace of side arms and an open duffel bag loaded with additional magazines and ammo for their weapons and a loose collection of grenades and gas bombs.

"Security breech attempt on the airstrip entrance. They're not through yet but it's only a matter of minutes until they breech the gates and the elevator blast door. I've locked the elevator down but it's just a temporary obstacle. They've taken out the external cameras so I have no idea what we're facing. I sent the coded 'WildFire' alert to NSA but I don't know if we'll get reinforcements in time. C'mon. Throw on some clothes, Chuck. We need a plan, something to buy us time. Any ideas?"

"We're going to have to work the Ark against them. Meet me in the control room in 10 minutes. Swing back by the armory and bring any explosives you can carry. We'll turn this whole place into a trap. And bring water. We're going to be leaving as soon as we trap the rats."

* * *

**NSA Headquarters  
****FT Meade, MD 10:15am**

Breakfast with Shaw had been a tense and quiet affair. From the gingerly way he walked and then eased down into the chair across from her, she knew she'd gotten her point across to him. She was not Shaw's anything. She was someone else's and she would do her damnedest to get him to see that. The 'someone else' was Chuck Bartowski aka Charles Carmichael.

Their problems weren't insurmountable and each bore a share of blame for the 'breakup' even though they weren't 'together'. Sarah was certain she could make him see that, if only she had the opportunity. She planned to 'make' such an opportunity by requesting immediate reassignment back to Team Intersect and Burbank and once there she was going to put Chuck to bed and tell him everything there was to know about her from her earliest memory up until she dragged him to bed. 'Sam' would never come between them again.

General Beckman's aide ushered them into the office, warning them that the General's schedule was 'in shambles' because a training site had declared a security emergency and had not been heard from since. There was a high-value asset in training there.

Beckman acknowledged the Agents, pointed to Walker and a chair and then to Shaw and the door. When he started to sit in the visitor chair beside Walker she snapped her fingers, glared and pointed at the door. The message was clear. Get out!

"Colonel Casey, assets from Nellis have been scrambled but it will take them more than 20 minutes to get there and there's no guarantee they'll be able to make much of a difference except to shoot up any units still on the surface. That Ark was built to take a near miss from a multi-megaton nuke but they apparently had inside information since they hit the most vulnerable entrance."

She listened and then flicked the conversation over to speakerphone.

"Colonel, I have Agent Walker here. Agent Shaw is cooling his heels in the outer office so speak freely, John."

"Hey, Walker. We've found some anomalies and inconsistencies in Shaw's dossier that don't add up. For instance, his wife isn't dead." She could hear from the conversation that Casey was in a chopper probably on the way to Desert One.

"But John, he told us Eve was dead, killed by Ring agents when she was in deep cover. Her rings were in the lockbox we opened along with those disks. It's probably why the General gave him free rein over the Team, correct General?" She desperately wanted this conversation to go anywhere but the obvious: her relationship with Daniel Shaw.

"Yes, for the most part. I believed that no stronger motivation existed to accomplish bringing down the Ring that avenging the loss of a spouse or close loved one. I still do but now I have to wonder, was I wrong about that and were the ensuing actions truly beneficial to our struggle?" Beckman was being unusually candid.

"There's no record of a divorce or of her death. Those could have been anyone's rings or hers that she returned to antagonize him. We never got to read the note that accompanied the rings, did we? Unless he showed it to you, Sarah, when you guys were…"

Sarah quickly interrupted. "No. He never showed me the note. He burned it. And he never told me what was in it, either."

"I believe that this Eve person defected to Fulcrum and then progressed up the chain to the Ring. She disappeared from operations about the time Fulcrum came into its own. It would make sense."

"Then his goal is still to destroy the Ring, regardless of the reason. So why the concern now? And wasn't he fully vetted before joining us in Burbank?"

"He lied, Sarah, pure and simply. That makes his actions suspect. He did try some risky tactics with Bartowski despite the intersect being put at risk." Beckman still seemed to have a problem with the fact that Chuck _was_ the intersect and not a separate entity.

"Speaking of which, where is Chuck now, Casey?"

Beckman answered. "Bartowski is the 'high-value asset' at Desert One, Agent Walker."

* * *

**Joint NSA/CIA Training Base Camp – 'Desert One'**  
**Control Room**

Chuck glanced up when Deena Rico burst into the control room dragging two full duffel bags and wearing her rucksack.

"What are you doing, Chuck? I can…" Just then there was a loud 'BOOM' and a sprinkle of dust trickled down onto the workstation from the overhead.

"That must have been the blast door from the airstrip elevator. They'll be here in 10 minutes, tops, Chuck. Let's get out of here now while we still have a chance. We don't want to get stuck down here at the end of a dead end corridor."

"Wait a minute. I found the ops manual for the Ark. We can monitor their progress from here via the CCTV cameras and take our pick of where we want to do battle as opposed to just running into them head on. With these internal blast doors opening and closing at 'random' we'll stand a better chance of getting out of here undetected. Let them waste time looking for us down here when we'll be up there", pointing in the general direction of the surface.

"So what's the plan?" Deena was fascinated by the way his mind worked. He was devious, in an innocent sort of way. She realized how contradictory her thought was and started giggling.

"Deena, you're taking 'cool under pressure' to a whole new level. I mean, talk about…" She interrupted him with a quick kiss. She wasn't normally so brazen but given the excuse of the 'heat of the moment' she went for it.

She broke the kiss and smiled and said, "If we get out of here alive, Chuck, you're going to be a happy man."

"Um, well, OK. I need to get us out of here anyway, no sense ignoring a benefit like that one." He was rambling again.

"Chuck! Focus, please!"

"We follow their path through the corridors and close blast doors and channel them to where we want them. Then we either kill them or capture them. Your option. I'd prefer capture since there's no telling how long it will take a relief force to arrive. Dead bodies stink up small spaces."

Chuck sent Deena out along the perimeter corridors to set the gas grenade traps and the three claymores she'd found in the armory. The C-4 they'd reserve for destroying any vehicles they found topside to hinder pursuit.

Chuck guided her back over the talkie and then started shutting off lights and closing blast doors as the first of the invaders appeared on camera. They didn't even suspect they were being herded until three of the teams met at one cross-junction of four corridors. That's where Deena had displayed her fiendish side. She'd placed four gas grenades and 2 flash bangs in the acoustic ceiling and rigged them all to detonate when the last blast door closed.

When the 3 teams of four soldiers met, Chuck had given her the honor of pushing the button. When the flash cleared and the TV camera cycled on line, all twelve of the invaders were incapacitated. The gas grenades were nicknamed 'ExLax' since they prompted immediate loose bowels and Pukes and several of the soldiers were puking their guts out. Three-quarters of the invading team had been captured and incapacitated and were now 'locked down' in the hallway junction. All without firing a shot.

The effects of the gas lasted between twenty and thirty minutes. The smell must have been disgusting. They both laughed over that. They wouldn't be here to clean it up.

"OK, Deena, let's boogie on out of here. I've closed off all access to our escape route to the pool area. We'll go out that way and be behind them on the surface. Call your contact and report our status. We'll meet them topside."

They'd lost track of the fourth team but Chuck was fairly confident they'd boxed them in with the blast doors. There were few spaces not covered by cameras. Unfortunately, the 4 soldiers were in one of those spaces, waiting for word from the other 3 teams.

_Their_ plan was to either overwhelm the defenders or herd them toward the team patiently lying in wait but since they'd lost contact, they broke cover near the swimming pool and took the open course that led to the control room, the escape route that Chuck had 'created' using blast doors and lighting.

* * *

**NSA Headquarters  
****FT Meade, MD 10:30am**

Beckman had dispatched John Casey to Desert One with two missions: aid and assist with any rescue or identify the body of the trainee. She still wouldn't refer to Chuck by name and this pissed Sarah Walker off immensely and it showed.

"Is there something wrong, Agent Walker?"

"You mean other than the fact that my asset may be fighting and dying while I sit here drinking coffee? Yeah, General. Why do you insist on dehumanizing Chuck Bartowski? You never refer to him by his given name, always calling him 'Mr. Bartowski' or 'Mr. Carmichael' or 'the asset' or 'the intersect'. Why is that?"

"Because I need to stay objective and keep any 'feelings' for him at a distance. The day may come when I have to make a hard decision and I don't take the death of any American lightly but I do have feelings and so I protect myself, Sarah, just as you do. He's the kind of guy who gets to you, who makes you question what you do and why and so I have to keep him as a thing at arms' length, for my own selfish reasons. Understand?"

Beckman's aide interrupted via intercom asking if she wanted to speak with the Agent at Desert One. "Of course!" she snapped.

She toggled her phone and the speakerphone hissed.

"This is General Beckman. Who is this?"

"Ma'am, this is Agent Deena Rico. We have a 'WildFire' situation. Carmichael and I have captured ¾ of the invading force and he's mapped a way for us to get up to the surface. They came in through the airstrip elevator and Chuck herded them into a group using the blast doors and we hit them with gas then closed them off and disabled the doors. Tell the relief to wear MOP4 gear. It's not pretty. And the gas is still potent."

"Excellent. What is your status?"

"No casualties. We're getting ready to…" Whatever she might have said was lost in a rattle of gunfire.

Chuck had been standing in the door to the corridor settling his rucksack on his back when he saw the first black-clad invading trooper in his peripheral vision. There was no time to give warning and still maintain the element of surprise so he just stepped out into the corridor and opened up with the suppressed MP-5. His first burst took the soldier in the chest but Chuck knew he was wearing body armor and so he walked a burst across the man's legs to bring him down and then aimed and took a head shot.

"Deena, we've got visitors!' was heard over the speaker and then Rico finished her report in a burst of words. "General, the last team of four is outside in the corridor. Carmichael's taking them under fire but they're wearing…good shot, Chuck…wearing body armor and GRENADE!"

The explosion must have destroyed the equipment because all that could be heard at FT Meade was the hiss of the carrier wave and the ragged breathing of one CIA agent who was trying unsuccessfully to 'keep it together' in front of her boss.

* * *

A/N: I wrote this on the plane coming back from Houston. I was bored. If you're bored, OK. If you're not, review. And keep in mind that I don't read them but SHE does. Thanks for taking the time to read the trype. I figure some other than venillashiz will take me to task. APR


	5. Chuck Learns a Painful Truth

NoMoreNextTimes05

* * *

**Joint NSA/CIA Training Base Camp – 'Desert One'**  
**Control Room**

Chuck heard Deena scream "Grenade!" and instinctively he stepped out of the control room and took a step towards their attacker. The flash bang exploded in the control room but the thick cinderblock and cement wall shielded him from the effects. He raised his MP-5 and fired a burst at the first target, again going for the legs. The submachine gun quietly burped twice and then settled in the open bolt position. His magazine was empty.

The intersect calmly informed him that it would take 2.7 seconds to eject the magazine, insert a full one and then set the bolt home and raise the weapon to fire. The intersect estimated that his probability of successfully taking out the invader already down but still holding a weapon at 60%, the 2nd invader at 20% and a miniscule probability of taking out the last soldier before he was killed.

He dropped the MP-5 and backed into the control room, drew his 9mm and squatted down and leaned out into the corridor and fired at the wounded soldier, killing him and then at the legs of the remaining two. He jerked back as one soldier went down screaming (he'd aimed a little bit higher than the knees) but he'd completely missed the last one.

'_Get it together, Bartowski, you need to take care of Rico. Now, flash some marksman shit and get it done!'_ Casey always had something supportive to say, even in the privacy of his mind.

'_Numbnuts, that was me! Get cracking and pull up Alexander Lubchenkov and get back in the fight!"_ Even Deuce sounded exasperated and a bit frightened.

He ejected the magazine from the pistol just as another grenade came sliding down the corridor floor. Assholes must be Cannuck curlers or shuffleboard fanatics. It came to a stop in front of the doorway opening and Chuck's mind registered 'grenade, fragmentation, 5 meter bursting radius…'as he reached out and shuffled it back up the corridor where it burst as designed taking out the remaining attackers.

He breathed a sigh of relief and then scuttled out into the hallway to ensure they were all dead. He'd made his first kills and instead of feeling elated at accomplishing his mission and saving them from capture he felt deeply ashamed and sickened. He'd never be a spy and for a moment he thanked God for that.

He wiped away any sign of tears even though he didn't care who saw them. Hell, he was the only one left standing like some macho hero of an action flick. It wouldn't matter if he started gibbering like an idiot, threw up all over himself or peed his pants. He was alone and no one would ever know.

"Chuck, are you all right? Are you hurt? Chuck, Chuck! Damn it, Carmichael, focus! Are – You – Hurt?"

He turned around and saw his trainer, tears running down her cheeks and a runny nose from crying, and he thought that he'd never seen anyone look as beautiful as she did. He was alive. She was alive. He laughed and finally she smiled hesitantly and then ran to him and threw her arms around him, laughing with him and just enjoying the thrill of being alive.

In that instant he came to totally understand and appreciate what Sam Walker had been going through, especially during the past 3 years, trying to keep him alive despite his own efforts to thwart her at every turn. _'I'm so sorry, Sam. I never knew. I forgive you and I sincerely apologize. And I'll tell you if I ever see you again'._ He understood her 'arrangements' with Bryce, Cole and even Shaw, the pecker-head she'd told her real name to. And he forgave her even though she'd done nothing wrong.

"Oh, Chuck, that was so…so…I don't know what it was but wow! Let's get out of here before Beckman triggers the self-destruct sequence. Maybe if we're lucky they left a vehicle we can use."

Deena ran back into the control room to report to the General but the concussive effects of the flash bang had knocked out the equipment. She grabbed the duffel bag with the water and rations and threw it to Chuck and picked up the one carrying their backup weapons and ammo and ran to join him. What a partner he'd make!

**NSA Headquarters  
****FT Meade, MD**

"Agent Walker, why don't you go and freshen your makeup. It's probably equipment failure. We'll know in a few minutes. Colonel Casey will be on the ground in minutes."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll – I'll be back in a few moments."

As soon as Sarah was out of the office Beckman was on the phone to her Ops Center.

"This is General Beckman. Authorization Zulu 3488 Yankee. Activate the self-destruct sequence on Desert One. Advise all aircraft to stand clear. Contact Colonel Casey and advise him of this action and ensure he's in a clear zone."

'_I'm sorry, Chuck, but the intersect host cannot be taken alive. I'll watch out for Sarah until she's back on her feet.'_

**Joint NSA/CIA Training Base Camp – 'Desert One'**

They were only a few yards from one of the emergency hatches that Chuck had used the previous night to 'drop in' on Deena in the pool when the loudspeakers began blaring '_**Attention: Self-Destruct Sequence Initiated Remotely. Evacuate. Evacuate**_. The message would repeat itself every 30 seconds.

They climbed up and out of the hatch that was in a depression and disguised as a clump of brush. Plastic sagebrush to be exact. Chuck pulled Deena down beside him and stuck his head up to scope out the situation. There was a CH-53 Jolly Green Giant with its engine shut down and an older Huey 1E with rotors in idle.

"Deena, sweetie, please tell me you can fly a Huey. Please?" Chuck hoped he'd never have to repeat his solo chopper flight. Perhaps the Gods of Flight would smile on him.

"No. You?" She felt that after what had happened, he could do anything.

"Well, maybe. Beats walking. Especially since your Jeep appears to have been blown up. OK, we'll sneak up behind them, take out anyone in the cabin then convince the pilots to take us to the nearest town. Once we're in the air, you contact NSA and give them a sitrep."

"Chuck, the nearest town is like 40 miles northwest of here. And don't you think the bad guys might take exception to us hijacking their helicopter?"

"Nope. The bad guys are all about to be blown up, remember? The chopper's empty. They're all gathered around the elevator shaft. I wonder if they've heard the announcement?"

"Probably not since they're still standing around smoking and joking." Deena had calmed down and was back in agent-mode, calmly assessing the situation and agreeing to hijack the chopper. Anything beat walking 40 miles in the desert in this heat. And it was only going to get hotter.

Chuck climbed into the pilot's seat and flashed on UH-1E flight operations and went through a quick checklist of pre-flight actions and then increased RPMs and raised the chopper into a ground-effect hover and then rapidly climbed and banked to about 500 feet to the northwest. He'd asked Deena for directions but she couldn't hear him. They'd been too busy to notice the small arms fire that had been peppering the rear of the fuselage and the cargo area.

Deena put on the co-pilot's helmet and motioned Chuck to do the same. With both hands occupied with flying, she helped him put the helmet on and then connected the radio/intercom.

"Can you hear me, Chuck?"

"Yeah, but just point me in the right direction. I'm having fits keeping this damned thing flying straight." He brought the chopper down to about 100 feet flying nap of the earth

"How many hours have you logged in a Huey?"

"Counting the past 10 minutes?"

'_Oh, shit!' _

"Yeah, counting the last 10 minutes."

"Oh, I guess about 20 minutes, give or take a minute or two."

"Oh, shit!"

"What? What? Don't 'oh shit!' like that if there's nothing wrong! You want me to fly this thing or flop around on the floor having a coronary? Jesus, Deena, we have got to sit down over a few beers and a pizza and work on our communications skills, OK?"

"I'm going to contact NSA on guard. Maybe someone's monitoring and we can get an assist. Like, someone who can walk you through flying this old relic?" She laughed again but switched the freq to Guard and tried to contact any friendlies in the area.

"This is Agents Rico and Carmichael of the NSA on Guard."

"This is Colonel Casey. Is Carmichael on?" Casey's chopper was orbiting the Desert One site five miles out.

"Yeah, Casey. We're about a mile, maybe a little less, from the site heading northwest at 60 knots. We took some ground fire and I think the engine is about to blow. It's surging and the temperature gauges are in the red. If I can land this, can you pick us up?" Deena started laughing again.

"Land now, Chuck. The nuke's going to generate a…"

"Oh, shit. What happened?" He was talking to himself. Deena was talking to herself. The 5kt tactical nuke that was at the heart of the self-destruct system detonated and emitted an EMP wave that killed everything electronic in the chopper. That's what Casey had been trying to say when he ordered them to land immediately.

"Deena, hold on! We're going in!" A helicopter has the glide ratio of a brick and even in autorotation they were still going to hit hard. There was no clear place to land that wasn't littered with boulders or ridges and he flashed on horrible photographs of helicopter crashes. Sometimes the 2.0 was a hindrance – like now.

Casey told the pilot to make max speed to the northwest and keep an eye out for a downed Huey. He contacted General Beckman.

* * *

**NSA Headquarters  
****FT Meade, MD **

When Sarah left to find a ladies room Daniel Shaw tried to get her to explain what was going on but she brushed him off with a terse "Later, Shaw. Not right now" and kept walking.

When she returned, he was standing in front of Beckman's office door looking less than pleased and obviously intent upon making her explain what was going on in the private meeting he'd been excluded from.

"Sam – I mean Sarah, what's going on in there? I should be there with you. We're partners."

"Sit down. I'll explain what I can when I can. Now, move it, Daniel, or you'll be looking for ice again." He glared at her but moved aside and sat down.

She knocked at the door and then entered. Beckman was on speaker with someone.

"We're landing now, General, but it doesn't look good. The Huey's on its back and the fuselage is broken. Main rotor looks like it snapped and then cut through the fuselage. No fire. It looks to be pretty shot up though. They went in from about 100 feet at 60 knots. They didn't know about the EMP, General. I didn't have time to tell them. No bodies but they're probably still in the bird."

"I'll standby for your report once you've landed and assessed the situation. Report back ASAP."

"Landing now, General. Casey out."

"Sarah, Carmichael and Rico got out of the site somehow, hijacked a Huey and were flying northwest about a mile or so from the site when the self-destruct blew and they were caught unprepared by the EMP. Casey will report on their condition as soon as he can."

"A nuke? There were nukes there?" She was horrified and appalled. Nuclear weapons used to self-destruct facilities? It was unheard of. Really over the top.

"Why? What self-destruct mechanism? A nuke in Nevada?"

"Agent, all Arks have nuclear self-destruct mechanisms. They were built in a different time when things were desperate. The 5 or 10KT warhead was integrated into the construction. When the site was overrun and the Agent triggered a 'WildFire' situation the autodestruct sequence was initiated automatically." A lie.

**Crash Site  
****Somewhere in Nevada**

'_Chuck, a lot of people are going to be pissed off if you've killed yourself.'_

The wreckage was strewn everywhere. He hadn't had much choice where to land the chopper. Even an experienced pilot with a fully functional aircraft would have been hard-pressed to land without incident.

Crewmen from Casey's chopper were discharging fire extinguishers into the engine housing and transmission areas to preclude fire or explosion. Two others were trying to pull open the copilot's door and extract the body hanging upside down in its harness. They had just started when the body started screaming "Chuck, Chuck, where are you?"

A few minutes later Agent Rico was reporting the situation to Colonel Casey while the crew worked on getting Chuck out. The copilot of Casey's chopper interrupted Rico's report.

"Colonel Casey, we're going to need some equipment to get him out. He's wedged in tight and we can't assess his condition. I can't tell if he's even alive."

That got Deena's attention. She pulled her 9mm and pointed it shakily at the copilot of Casey's chopper. "You _will_ get him out of there ASAP and he _will_ be alive and unharmed, understand? If you can't get him out yourself, _then_ call for help. Quit standing around making excuses! Make – it – happen!"

Casey would have laughed if the situation weren't so dire. Bartowski could sure find women who would move heaven and earth for him. Obviously Rico was well on her way to being compromised like Walker. Well, OK, like Walker used to be, before the wooden Indian came on the scene. Shaw irritated Casey and it was all he could do sometimes not to just grab him and push him slowly through a wall.

Aggravating automaton. A Stepford Agent. When he retired he could go to work at Disneyland as one of those robots in the displays. He could augment his pension. He'd fit right in. No one would even suspect he was a human being.

'_Chuck, wake up, sweetie. It's Deuce and I got news for you. You're not dead. At least not yet. Rico's freaking out so you have to wake up and let her know you're OK before she shoots someone. WAKE UP, DAMN IT!'_

"He's alive, Colonel! He just groaned. Hey, buddy, we're going to need some help from you to get you out, OK? You need to release your belts. You're upside down but we won't let you fall. Your partner's OK, too. She's just wigging out and waving a damned 9 mil in everyone's face."

Casey 'smiled' when he heard the crewman refer to Rico as his 'partner'. He could do a lot worse. Like Carina or even Walker if she got dumped by Stepford Shaw and came back. What a mess that would be. He'd talk with Beckman and 'suggest' she consider Rico when Chuck's training cycle was complete.

Twenty minutes later they were on their way to Nellis Air Force Base and a hospital for both Rico and Carmichael. Casey wanted them both to get a full workup to ensure they were as healthy as they both claimed. The General had agreed.

He chuckled when he saw how Rico had Chuck's hand in a death grip. Walker would be so pissed even if she still played house with the Automated Agent.

* * *

**Rico's POV**

Here I am, flying in a helicopter that actually flies for a while, hanging onto his hand like a schoolgirl! If I let go of him I know he'll disappear, this charming, nerdy, lovable, incredible and exciting man training to be an agent when he could teach agents a thing or two. He saved my life back in the control room. He became a warrior and took out 4 enemy agents.

I was incredibly intimidated and impressed with his machine-like performance. I started crying without understanding why. OK, the flashbang knocked me on my ass but I was mortified and hoped he wouldn't look at me before I could clean myself up. But then he'd turned around and I saw…exactly the same look on his face that I knew I had on mine. And then he laughed, not at me, but with the sheer joy of being alive.

I couldn't help myself. I ran to him and threw my arms around him and laughed with him. I'd never wanted to have sex with anyone else as badly as I did right then and there. I wanted to celebrate life with someone I knew loved it as much, at that moment, as I did. If it hadn't been for that damned evacuation announcement, I'd have had him right then and there in the corridor among the enemy bodies. It would have been spectacular.

It was my first time under fire and I hoped it wouldn't be my last with Chuck Carmichael. He will need a partner who would fight with him and for him. I plan on making my formal request to the General as soon as I can get to a secure phone.

**Chuck's POV**

Here I am, flying in a helicopter that manages to stay in the air more than a mile or two without shutting down, and I have a beautiful woman hanging on me like a kudzu vine. After the firefight outside the control room I assumed she was dead but she wasn't.

I wanted to screw her brains out in that corridor the moment I saw the look on her face. We both needed to feel…alive…to make sure we weren't in some limbo afterlife because we were dead. I laughed and she threw herself around me and we both laughed. It was so good to be alive. This must be how Larkin and Walker felt after missions. Post-mission sex. Understandable and forgivable. I owe Sam an apology for judging her without knowing.

Casey keeps looking at me with that smirk on his face. If I didn't ache all over I'd take my Beretta and shoot that damned smirk right off his face. I wonder if I'll get a couple days off to rest up before the next cycle. I'm so tired and I ache all over.

She's finally asleep but every time I try to remove my hand, she wakes up and reaches for me. I wonder how long it'll be before she grows tired of this?

* * *

_**A/N: I wonder how long it'll be before the readers get tired of this? LOL!**_  
_**Actually, I'm splitting the story, as you'll see in the next chapter**_

_**Armor-Plated-Rat**_


	6. Blood in the Water Sarah Loses Big Time

NoMoreNextTimes06

**A/N: PLEASE! Read the A/Ns at the end of the chapter. If you're bipolar, don't bother. You won't notice the difference. I need some help here, peeps.**

* * *

**Nellis AFB, Nevada  
****Base Hospital  
6 hours after the crash**

"Agent Casey, I need to see him, please?"

"It's _Colonel_ Casey, and you can't. Agent Rico, Carmichael is sequestered for the duration of his stay here. No visitors." It was Beckman's order and although he'd follow his orders he didn't understand it. Rico knew of his 'special talent' since she'd debriefed him after every exercise at Desert One.

"But Colonel…" She was whining and she hated herself for it. It was unprofessional but she wanted to make sure Chuck was OK. He'd been whisked away in an ambulance the moment their chopper had touched down.

"Rico, he's OK. Honest. They let me see him and verify his condition for the General. He's conscious and already complaining about everything. He wanted to check on you, too, if it's any consolation. Now, you have your orders. You're to report to General Beckman for a personal debriefing. There's a NSA business jet waiting for you. I'll tell him you said goodbye."

"Give him this, please?" She pressed an envelope into his hand and then turned and left. She was wearing a dress and heels and he wondered where she'd found the time to go shopping.

* * *

In another part of the hospital, a team of doctors was examining Chuck. They'd been assembled by Beckman at Nellis. He'd already had a CT scan and was currently being drained of blood by a pretty Air Force technician who'd been pulled off her normal job to assist the visiting physicians.

A doctor who was obviously a psychologist debriefed Chuck and went into a series of prepared questions regarding his reactions and any interactions with the intersect 2.0 that seemed…unusual. Chuck's defenses kicked in and he looked at the man and commented "Doctor, I was too damned busy dodging grenades and killing people to have any interface with 2.0 except for when I flashed on my survival chances when my MP-5 ran dry. That was the only time."

"And how did you feel after the engagement? I have Agent Rico's comments and they were very explicit. And rather graphic. I'd like your reactions."

"I thought she was dead, understand? And I'd just killed four men. And I felt ashamed and disgusted with myself…for about 5 seconds."

"And after that?"

"I was so damned glad I was still alive. And then Rico said something and I turned and she'd been crying and I laughed, not at her but I laughed for joy because we were both alive and it was a marvelous feeling."

"And then?"

"If the damned PA system hadn't started announcing Armageddon we'd have made love on the floor surrounded by dead bodies and wouldn't have cared at all. Neither of us would have cared. I think that's the most surprising feeling given the circumstances. Don't you?"

"We're talking about you, Mr. Carmichael, not me. But yours is an honest and well-adjusted response to the situation. Very honest. It's nothing to be ashamed of, either. It's just the ultimate validation of life and perfectly natural and normal."

The interview went on for several more minutes before the doctor noticed how tired Chuck was and told him they'd completed their examinations and he was "OK to continue training."

Chuck slept through whatever passed for 'dinner' in the hospital and was awakened before midnight by a grinning Colonel Casey.

"Up and at 'em, Tiger. Your chariot awaits you. No rest for the wicked. A rolling stone gathers no moss. Seize the day. The early bird g…"

"Casey, enough. Get out so I can get dressed. Wait! I don't have any clothes except what I had on when you picked us up. Where's Rico, Casey? I need to see her, to make sure she's OK."

"You got clothes in a bag on the floor beside your bed. Rico's in DC briefing the General. She said to say 'goodbye' and to give you this. She'd make you a good partner, Chuck. Think about it. I think Beckman's going to like her, too, so you probably have a good chance of drawing her name out of the assignments hat. Now, read that on your own time. You've got a date with your next block of instruction. You up for that?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm ready. Just let me get dressed and I'll be right with you."

* * *

**NSA Headquarters  
****FT Meade, MD **

"Good morning, Agent Rico, and congratulations on a very successful defense of Desert One. You will find a letter of commendation in your file and that will greatly enhance your career with the Agency."

"Thank you, General, and I have to apologize for my appearance. Everything I owned in the world was at Desert One and it's gone. I had to borrow this dress to leave the hospital."

"No problem. Finance has a check waiting for you and you're on leave for the next 7 days although you have almost 4 months of accumulated leave coming t you. Now, let's begin the debriefing and you can be on your way. Oh, manners. Agent Rico, this is Agent Walker of the CIA. She was the handler for Mr. Carmichael when he was an asset. She's fully cleared for intersect information."

"You're Sam? Chuck spoke of you often, usually in comparison to something he thought he hadn't performed as well as you would have demanded. You set the bar pretty high for him. But he far exceeded any standards we could measure."

"Actually, it's _Sarah _Walker. 'Sam' is…an unfortunate misunderstanding. But we're here for a debriefing, Agent, so please continue."

For the next two hours Deena went over every facet of Carmichael's training record, watched and commented on surveillance tapes that she hadn't known were being recorded and explained comments made in conversation and in the written reports she'd submitted. There were several questions when she'd finished her exhausting summary.

"Agent Rico, during the firefight in the corridor did the trainee seem to 'zone out' at any time, lose focus, become dangerously distracted?" Beckman wanted to know if he'd flashed at inopportune times.

"Earlier in training, after being briefed on the various scenarios, he did seem to lose focus for a few seconds but then he'd set off and accomplish the assigned training task. During the firefight? No. Not once. He was focused and very determined and self-assured. The only time he seemed…the only time I thought I saw hesitation was after he'd taken out the four in the corridor and had gone out to make sure they were dead…"

"Go on, Agent Rico. The cameras in the corridor were unable to capture his facial expressions very well."

"He – he seemed sad, ashamed almost, but then he smiled and laughed and it was OK, he was OK, everything was OK. He seemed to realize he was alive and he rejoiced in it. Honestly, General, I knew exactly what he was feeling because it's exactly, precisely, how I was feeling."

Agent Walker spoke for the first time during the briefing. "And just how were you both feeling?"

"Alive, Agent Walker, very, very much alive. If it hadn't been for the PA announcing Armageddon…I'd have torn off our clothes and had him right there in the corridor. I'm sorry if that's inappropriate but I did promise to tell you everything."

Beckman hid a smile behind her hand. This Agent and Bartowski would make a formidable pairing. She was attractive, caring and able, but most importantly as it would affect Bartowski, she was painfully honest.

Beckman cleared her throat and looked at the blushing your woman and then smiled. "Thank you, Deena, for all you did. I'm sure Chuck would thank you also if he were here. From his debriefing tapes I've had time to review from Nellis, he was quite taken with you and was very pointed in his comments regarding your professionalism. However, there was one thing he did comment on that could be construed as being 'disapproving'."

Walker became tense. Maybe this dark brunette wasn't perfect after all? Just maybe there were flaws that Chuck would have commented on only if asked directly?

"General, what did he say? Please?" Deena had had such hopes for a future partnership. They seemed to have complemented one another so broadly. Now though…

"He said you were a disaster in the kitchen, Agent Rico. An absolute disaster." Beckman laughed at the look on Rico's face. _'Oh, yeah, this one will do.'_

"Agent Walker, why don't you take Agent Rico to lunch and then drop her at the motor pool after swinging by Finance. You two can share insights on the care and feeding of Chuck Carmichael. Then return here for further instructions, Agent Walker. Agent Rico, you are dismissed with our thanks for a job well done. Take a pool car for the duration of your leave and report back to me for reassignment."

"Um, General, one question?"

"Yes?"

"How is he? They wouldn't let me see him after the crash. I was so worried. How is he?"

Beckman smiled and answered with an almost motherly tone of approval. "I understand you were quite demonstrative at the crash site regarding his well-being. Something about threatening pilots with a 9mm demanding that they extract him from the wreckage and 'make – it – happen?"

Rico blushed and Sarah had the good sense to know when she'd been bested in a fair fight. Beckman had decided right then and there on a new partner for Chuck. Deena Rico.

"Well, ma'am, they were just complaining about needing more equipment and I wanted him out of the wreck and so I…I motivated them a bit."

Walker and Beckman laughed. It was so…Chuck-like.

"To answer your question, Agent Rico, he's on his way to the Air/Sea phase. He should have arrived in the Florida Keys within the past few hours. Now, I have a schedule and you two have your orders. I'll see you again, Agent Walker, after lunch. Dismissed."

* * *

As they walked to the car Sarah broached comments she'd heard on the surveillance tapes.

"Agent Rico, when you and Chu- I mean, Mr. Carmichael, were eating the dinner he'd prepared he made a comment in response to your teasing about marrying you and you'd be his love slave if he cooked. Do you remember those comments?"

"Yeah, sort of. They weren't germane to the mission and I was focused on fulfilling the criteria that had been established by my assignment: 'Find out as much about Carmichael as possible; find out what makes him tick'."

"He said he didn't believe in marriage or love. He said it was all bullshit especially in the spy business. Do you think he was being truthful? Does he really…"

"Something happened to him. I don't know what but you should have seen the look on his face, Agent Walker. You probably couldn't since the camera angles were all wrong. He was devastated and I think his response was more a defense mechanism than a true belief statement. I was joking, but he wasn't."

"But, maybe he was…" Sarah started to say but Rico interrupted her and was very blunt with her.

"Someone he trusted, someone he believed in, someone he'd sacrificed for, that someone turned on him or betrayed him. I could see it in his eyes, Agent. There was great pain there but only for an instant. He's really good at hiding his emotions. I think it's a recent skill though. Otherwise I wouldn't have seen what I did in his eyes."

"He's always been too trusting." Sarah was concentrating on her driving but her white-knuckled grip gave her away.

"He trusted you. And loved you. I could hear it in his voice when he'd talk about some of the things you'd done. Nothing classified, just how professional you were, how precise your plans were and how you never failed to accomplish your missions. You were always his standard of excellence, Agent Walker."

Sarah swallowed and shook her head. "I'm sure he was exaggerating, Agent Rico. I'm not that professional or that perfect. Not by a long shot."

Deena took a deep breath and exhaled. "You broke his heart, y'know? He never said one thing bad or even remotely negative about you. You could hear the pride and love in his voice when he talked about this amazing agent who'd been his handler. I don't know what happened, _Sam_, but I can probably guess."

"I told you my name is Sarah, not Sam. I was his handler, yes, but nothing…"

"Yeah, yeah, nothing happened. I'll skip lunch. I've lost my appetite. Drop me at finance. I'll catch a cab or bum a ride to the motor pool, Agent Walker. I hope that whatever it was that made you do it was worth it."

Sarah watched Rico walk away. It hadn't been worth it. If she'd just been a little more patient, a little less of a spy and a lot more of a woman, none of this would have happened.

* * *

**NSA/CIA Air/Sea Training Center  
****Marathon, FL**

The helicopter was skimming the waves on its way from Miami International Airport to the NSA Center on Marathon Key. Chuck had slept the entire flight from Nellis and was keyed up and ready to get started on the second leg of his training.

Chuck watched the pilot's hands as he flew the Bell Jet Ranger with a skill and ease Chuck could only envy.

"You want to give it a try, Carmichael. I heard you flew a Huey through some heavy shit. This should be a snap for an experienced pilot." He was startled as Chuck's rasping laugh came through his headphones.

"No. I'll let you experienced pilots fly. I seem to be able to take off OK but everything after that turns to shit in a hurry."

"What happened?"

"Classified. But I'll tell you this. A Huey does not glide well at all."

The pilot started to chortle. He had to know what had happened. It sounded like a good 'war story'. "Go on, Carmichael. This sounds like a war story to tell around the card table."

"Total electronics and engine failure at 100 feet and 60 knots. The engine was already in the red from small arms fire. We crashed but no one was hurt, thank God. Just the bird. Rotors gone, fuselage spine broken, engine about 30 feet away. No fire, though. That's something to be thankful for. Landed upside down after a bit of a slide. Walked away from it."

"Bullshit, Carmichael! How long were you in the hospital?"

"Got out about 8 hours ago. Bird went in at about 10am yesterday morning."

The pilot was silent the rest of the flight. This guy couldn't be a _trainee!_

* * *

When they landed and he shut down the bird he offered to give Chuck a hand with any equipment.

"Travel light. What you see is what you get. Throw me my bag and point me to the Admin Building and I'll get out of your hair."

Chuck walked into the Training Center Admin Building and reported in. A disinterested clerk pointed to a retina scanner and Chuck used the device to verify his identity. The clerk did a double-take on the read-out and then walked over and dialed a number from memory and spoke loudly enough so that Chuck could hear.

"Ma'am. He's here. No, ma'am, it's definitely him. Voice print matches as does his retina scan. No ma'am, he's not dead. Really? Well, I'll send the corpse right over ASAP. Yes, ma'am, I'll tell him."

"Go to the building over there and ask for Master Chief Madison. She's the training director. You know, we got a telex that you were dead and wouldn't be cycling in. Welcome back, although you might wish you were dead after Momma Mako is done with you, Carmichael." He laughed and walked Chuck to the door and vaguely pointed out one of several small structures near the seaplane hangers.

"Momma Mako?" Chuck was curious about the nickname.

"Mako shark. Attacks without warning and tears out chunks of flesh with each attack…and a Mako attacks repeatedly until there's nothing left but red mist in the water."

Chuck swallowed loudly and the clerk laughed. "Carmichael, just don't bleed in the water and you'll do all right. I got to warn you though, the last cycle of CIA trainees who came through here failed – every damned one of them. She's got a bad attitude towards you spy guys."

"Thanks, I think. Maybe she's a little more sympathetic towards the NSA?"

"Nope. Hates NSA worse than the CIA. Just don't ble…"

"…bleed in the water. I heard you the first time. Well, lucky I don't have any open wounds from last week. Thanks again." Chuck walked out with his one small bag and headed towards the building to introduce himself to Master Chief Madison.

* * *

**Air/Sea Training Center Ops**

'Mako' Madison was having a bad morning. She'd planned on a week's leave so she could dive some newly found wrecks off the Keys but the 'special case' trainee turned up at the base alive and kicking not dead as had been reported. Well, if she managed an 'accident' early in the cycle she could still get in a long weekend. Spy bastards were always screwing with her.

She was putting the finishing touches on her 5th request for reassignment to an active team when she heard the screen door slam shut. She sighed and hit the 'send' button and the email disappeared into the federal email system.

Chuck was checking out the pictures on the walls of all the previous classes seeing if he could flash on anyone. He'd almost finished 1998 when he saw her in a group of twelve students – Sarah Walker - and there was Bryce standing behind her. _Probably has his hand on her ass considering the dreamy look on her face._

'_Chuckles, I thought you let her go? Bygones. Get your head in the game. This is what you asked for so knuckle down and finish up and we'll take some personal time and you can get me a refresher. I feel so…old. A girl intersect needs new data like a real girl needs…new shoes! So get your ass in gear and let's get past this.'_

'_Stifle, Deuce. I have every right to feel the way I do. Well, OK, I have __some__ right, but damn it, we were together THREE years and she knew him what, less than three weeks, and she tells him stuff"'_

'_Carmichael, listen to yourself. Whine, whine, sniffle, sniffle. You're worse than any of the 200+ integrated memories I got in my download. You and Sam were NEVER 'together'. You were the asset. She was the handler. It was all a cover. Now, get your head out of your ass and report to the boss lady.'_

'_I made my peace before Desert One. I just want to know WHY, that's all. Nothing earth-shattering. Nothing classified. Just 'why'. Why tell him anything at all?'_

'_Why? Because, that's why. What are you, twelve?'_

* * *

**A/N: The story splits here. I'm of two minds as to how to continue so being the bipolar writer that I am, I'll let my Charah side have a chapter and the not-so-Charah have another. One chapter but two versions. Charah peeps read chapters with Charah after the number and you Rico fans read the one with Rico after the number like Chapter 221Charah or Chapter 221Rico. **

**Easy enough for anyone to handle. If you're bi-polar (PC for Schizophrenic) just read them both. **_**Neither**_** of you will know the difference. **

**Actually, that's a lot of damned work. I'm open to suggestions. I'll hold off posting and rewriting until I get some good suggestions. Thanks.**

**APR**


	7. Beckman Exiles Sam Ring Plots a Snatch

NoMoreNextTimes07

_**A/N: Thank you all for your suggestions. I can't split the story. I can, however, interweave what's written with what's planned so hold your water. I'm updating tonight and maybe Friday but then I'm off to her place on the Gulf coast to spend the Easter holiday with the future in-laws. I may incorporate those events into the story because Deena is my Nik and that's why I can't just bump her off, comprendes? Thanks again for the suggestions, especially from you bi-polar peeps out there. **_

_**APR**_

Maureen "Mako" Madison was career Navy but had been seconded to the Joint Intelligence Training Command right out of school. She'd been in the Naval Service 15 years and was looking forward to pulling the plug at twenty. She had plans. But first she wanted, no, she needed, to experience what she'd sent so many young faces out to do. Sighing again, she pushed her 5'7" frame out of the old wooden office chair and went out to meet her newest smiling face…except he wasn't smiling.

"See someone you know there, Trainee Carmichael?" He'd looked…lost for a moment…but then seemed to focus and when he did, he turned and blue eyes met brown eyes and she was momentarily lost and unsettled.

"Yeah, two someones, actually. One's dead. I don't know where the other one is. I'm Chuck Carmichael and I'm reporting in and need to see Master Chief Madison, ma'am. Have I come to the wrong office?"

Another one who can't accept the fact that a woman could be in charge? She sighed in disgust.

"I'm Master Chief Madison. Got a problem with that, trainee?" Another yuppie going to 'give his all for God and Country' but couldn't accept a woman as an equal.

"Nope. It's just that you're not wearing a name tag and there's no name on the door and no title on the building and I was following a vaguely-pointed finger by a clerk who seemed to think I was dead and I thought I might have the wrong building, that's all."

"Oh. Well, I'm Chief Madison, Carmichael. Welcome to Marathon Training Station. We were sent a telex that you'd bought the farm somewhere out west in a training accident so yeah, we're surprised to see you. Are you physically able to do training, Carmichael? No unhealed injuries from the last cycle?"

"No, ma'am. They released me from the hospital last night with a clean bill of health. The crash left no discernable injuries or marks. I can start immediately."

"Released last night? What crash? And don't give me any shit about 'need to know', either. I decide whether you're healthy enough to undergo our training here. It's all physical, all the time. No classroom settings to veg out in. You're in the air or in the water and occasionally in your rack for some sack time."

"Ma'am, with all due respect, I cannot answer any of your questions."

"Explain yourself or be gone, Trainee."

"It was interesting meeting you, Master Chief. I'll get out of your hair." He turned and grabbed his small bag from the floor and walked out the door leaving Madison in total shock. No one, not one single trainee, had ever done what this one had done – called her bluff. Interesting.

* * *

'_Well, Chuckles, that went well, doncha think? You blew it with your thoughtless throwaway comment. Idiot.'_

'_Back off, Deuce. What's done is done. I've still got you infesting my head so it's not like it was a total loss. I did get to meet interesting people and kill them…not a total loss at all.'_

'_Beckman's going to put you in the ground, Chuck, put __**us**__ in the ground.'_

'_You worry too much, Deuce. She'll probably just have another trainee cap us and save all that money.'_

* * *

Chuck walked back to the Admin section and asked the clerk there about getting a cab into town. He'd contact Beckman from a payphone and arrange transportation to wherever she was going to dump him.

He walked outside and sat on a bench to wait for the cab. He had $20 that Casey had given him 'as a loan, moron, that I want paid back' and he hoped it would be enough for the cab and some fast food. He hadn't eaten since Desert One. He was still tired and leaned back and closed his eyes. Sitting in the warm morning sun was perfect for a nap.

**Air/Sea Training Center Ops**

"This is Master Chief Madison calling for General Beckman regarding Trainee Carmichael. I'll hold."

Five minutes later and she was still on hold. She was also getting pissed. No one walked away from her training. She cast them out, killed them off, sent them home to mommy; no one ever walked away.

Finally. "This is General Beckman, Master Chief. What's he done this time? Sunk your favorite boat?" Madison was shocked. Beckman joking?

"This _is_ General Diane Beckman, correct?"

"Yes, Master Chief. Agent Walker and I have you on speakerphone. What's he done already? He can't have pissed you off so badly this early."

"I asked him questions and he refused to answer them. I need to make sure my trainees can handle the rigorous physical demands of training. He would not explain the circumstances surrounding the telex we got announcing his death."

"Bully for him. He can't. Not without specific authorization to relate the events to someone without proper clearances. Have your gone over your clearances with him?"

"I told him not to give me any 'need to know' crap and he said it was nice meeting me, no, that's not right. He said it was 'interesting' meeting me and then he left. Either fill in the blanks or send someone to get him. I don't need any wimpy prima donnas here who hide behind rules."

She listened as the two woman dissolved into laughter.

"Sorry, Master Chief, it's just that Carmichael never hides behind rules. He breaks them, bends them, folds them, ignores them, and frequently rewrites them." Then in the hard tone of voice she'd expected from the head of NSA she heard "But he never breaks security regs, ever. He was 'undercover' for three years living a double life in a huge high stakes game and learned the value of 'need to know'. So, go get him. Bring him to the phone. I will give him your clearances. And then, Master Chief, quit fucking around with my trainee and do your damned job!"

* * *

**Marathon Harbor  
****Marathon, FL  
****Aboard the Yacht **_**Vesper**_

"He's here in Marathon. He's not dead. Madison just processed him in and they're in the water already. How do you want to proceed?"

"Do nothing. Your cover has to be maintained. I'll contact my superiors and get instructions. You might want to take leave for the remainder of the training cycle. You don't want to fall victim to friendly fire. Do not use this number again. I'll provide new contact numbers with your payment at the usual drop."

* * *

**NSA Headquarters  
****FT Meade, MD **

After straightening out the misunderstandings in Florida, Beckman turned her attention back to Agent Walker.

"So, how do you feel about continuing your partnership with Agent Shaw until we can learn more about his wife's role in the game and why he lied to us? Can you gain his confidence and find out this information?"

"General, I want back in Burbank. It's where I can be most effective. You know my personal feelings and I don't think I can pull off being a convincing partner to Shaw. I won't resume a physical relationship and that's all he really wants anyway. He's a classic manipulator, great at what that entails."

"And if you had no choice in the matter, Agent Walker? If it was a permanent assignment?"

"I'd resign, General. I can't deny my feelings any longer. I'm not 25 and I don't see myself remaining a field operative much longer. I want the house, kids, car and dog. And I have my husband already picked out." She smiled shyly, uncertain of the course of this conversation.

"I see, Agent. But Carmichael is just beginning his career. Suppose he doesn't want the same things?"

"Then I'll wait with him until he does. General, I want Chuck as my partner. No one can better guide and assist him and protect him than someone who loves him as much as I do."

"And you think those things matter in partner selection? As I said, he's at the beginning of his career and you're admittedly looking to end yours. I'd think someone younger and more career-oriented would be a better partner for him, don't you?"

'_Trapped you with your own words, Walker. You'll partner with Carmichael only after I get to the bottom of Shaw's pit of deception. I want to know why and when. When the Ring's been weakened, only then will Shaw become…expendable.'_

Sarah started to respond but Beckman held up her hand.

"I've made my decision and it's final. You will resume operations with Shaw until we resolve the loyalty and motivation issues. At that time I will consider reassigning you to Team Intersect, but not until then. Do what you apparently do best, Agent Walker, and seduce him. Regain his confidence. Accomplish your mission and then report back to me. The longer it takes, the less likely your selection for Team Intersect."

* * *

**Marathon Fl  
****5 miles offshore  
****Atlantic Ocean**

"Carmichael, I'll see you for dinner at seven in the officers' mess. Dress is informal. Bring your appetite."

She powered up the 30' crew boat and headed back to the office. If he didn't drown, the dinner conversation was certainly going to be interesting.

Chuck was treading water and cursing Diane Beckman and the NSA and Bryce Larkin and all manner of espionage agents but especially Bryce for sending him the damned email. When he'd mentally run out of breath he realized that he had only himself to blame. He was the one who downloaded the Deuce when he was basically free from the intersect. It was his own damned fault, no one else's.

Even with flippers, he faced a 3 – 4 hour swim. The seas were relatively calm but it hit him all of a sudden. He was totally alone in the Atlantic Ocean with no fallbacks, no backups, just him. No matter which way he looked all he could see was the sea. He checked his wrist compass, pulled down his mask and set out for Marathon. His stomach growled reminding him it had been quite a while since it had been fed.

The endurance swim was the second of several physical tests. The five-mile run had taken about 35 minutes. The same distance in the water would take considerably longer. He couldn't use the intersect for anything out here in the ocean. Out here it was just man against the sea.

Three hours and eight minutes later he walked into the ops building and rang the bell and noted the time for the log. He was tired and looking forward to a shower and then food. He'd make nice with Master Chief Madison and be in bed by 9 if he was lucky.

* * *

**Air/Sea Training Center Ops  
****Officer's Open Mess**

Maureen Madison had told Carmichael dress was informal but he'd carried it to extremes. She begun taking him to task when he quietly reminded her that he'd come to Marathon directly from a hospital bed and that the clothes he'd been wearing were all he had. Everything else had been atomized in Nevada.

"So, I guess you'll need to get an advance and go into town and buy some clothes. I'll take you in the morning. Breakfast is at 5am and the stores here open at 7am. We can have this taken care of and be in the air by 10am. Not much of a change to the training schedule. So, what do you think of the NSA so far, Charles?"

"I've been to DC twice and I've dealt with the General more times than I care to and my original handler was NSA so any opinion I might have would be tainted by those facts." He wasn't going to play her game. Let her work for her information.

"OK, Charles. I should have shown you my credentials and we could have avoided the confrontation this morning but I'm regular Navy and your cloak and dagger bullshit is foreign to me."

"Master Chief, I…"

"Maureen, Charles. It's after duty hours. And Master Chief is a title. After hours I'm a person, a woman, not a rank or title. OK?"

"Fine. So call me Chuck. It's less pretentious than Charles. So, tell me about the Soviet sub you and a crew salvaged off the coast of Cuba? Or maybe the beach mission in Grenada…no cloak and dagger, huh?"

"Those are classified way over your head, Charles. Forget you ever heard about them. They're code word stuff. And quit smirking at me."

"You're cleared for Intersect intel, right?" She nodded. "Of course. Why else do you think I'm personally training you?"

"I'm the intersect."

She looked at him and then everything clicked. Beckman's personal interest and demands, the preferential treatment as far as scheduling, the need for utmost secrecy.

"Don't look so smug, Carmichael. You still have to pass my courses." She looked at him over the rim of her wine glass and saw something she'd missed. He wasn't being smug and he hadn't been smirking. He'd been open and honest and she'd been smug and surly. She saw what she'd expected to see: a spoiled brat agent-in-training but then she remembered his introduction. Three years deep cover and they were just getting around to training him _now_?

"So, how many hours do you have in rotary wing?"

"About 20 minutes as A/C, a lot more as a passenger." She choked on her wine and asked him to repeat himself, certain she'd misunderstood.

"First flight was in Long Beach. Fell up and around the sky, missed power lines and poles by inches, landed so hard the skid collapsed on the copilot side. Lasted 10 minutes. Second was a few days ago. My trainer and I hijacked a 1E and then got swatted out of the sky by an EMP and went in from 100' at 60kts. So, my performance has been less than stellar."

She started to giggle and then laughed outright. Chuck handed her a napkin since she snorted wine all over the table.

She looked at him in silence for a long time and then said "Do NOT Touch My Bird, Carmichael. Not with your track record."

Chuck was in bed by 9pm. Maureen wanted to meet for breakfast and then take him shopping and then get on with training. Tomorrow's scenario was an airborne drop into an enemy harbor, photograph an objective and then swim out for airborne extraction.

* * *

**Marathon Harbor  
****Marathon, FL  
****Aboard the Yacht **_**Vesper**_

"Duquesne, this is Palace. Your target is NSA trainee Charles Carmichael. Extract him at all costs. If extraction unfeasible, terminate him. Collateral damage immaterial. Once he's extracted, keep him sedated and get the Vesper into international waters. You'll be contacted as to your ultimate destination. A bonus of $100,000US if extraction successful. Prepare _Vesper_ for a long cruise, Duquesne. End transmission."


	8. Just a Little Swim in the Moonlight

NoMoreNextTimes08  
A/N: Apparently Nik wants to go tomorrow so here's the Friday offering early. Next on Monday.

* * *

**Two Miles East of Marathon Harbor**

"Trainee, your scenario mission is simple. Swim into the harbor, surface, photograph the public fuel depot undetected and swim back out to the GPS coordinates you've been given and await pickup. Questions?" She was shouting directly into Chuck's ear as he sat on the edge of the Huey 1B, his rebreather on his chest and his mask around his neck and his flippered feet balanced against the skid.

That morning Madison had given him a thorough indoctrination in the use of the rebreather including all its dangers and advantages. The major limitation was the absorption rate of the collection canisters. The slower his rate of breathing, the longer he could stay under water.

Two sailors had fitted him with his camouflaged wet suit and other equipment including a wicked serrated diving knife strapped to his thigh and another, smaller knife on his upper arm. When he asked about the knives one sailor leaned down and whispered "Mako likes to chum the waters around the pickup site and attract predators. She says it adds 'elements of realistic danger'. I think the bitch is nuts!"

Madison slapped him on the shoulder and pointed to her ears, the signal that Chuck should put in his ear buds and perform a commo check. Chuck pinched the throat mike and signaled that he was 'up' and Madison nodded and gave him a thumbs-ups in response. Then she held up 4 fingers, then 3, then two and Chuck pulled on his mask and pulled up the hood of his wet suit and stepped out onto the skid. The chopper had descended to about 10 feet and reduced speed to 10kts and when she slapped him again on the shoulder he stepped off the skid and plunged into the cool Atlantic waters.

"Trainee, this is Mako, commo check."

"Carmichael up and moving."

* * *

For the next forty minutes Chuck swam slowly but steadily through his waypoints. At each point he opened a channel and reported the waypoint number and time and his condition and then shut down communications. He knew that once he cleared the final waypoint he'd have to drop down to the seafloor. The depth of the water would cut communications.

Spotting the anchor chain for the buoy marking the southern-most edge of the harbor he dove down to the seafloor eighty feet below him. He laughed to himself when he started seeing signs of 'civilization'…beer bottles, anchors, tin cans…civilization's relics.

Chuck was well within the harbor when he noticed bubbles from another diver who appeared to be working on a sunken hulk. He slowed and let himself sink to the bottom and observed the diver. His camouflaged wet suit blended in with the sandy bottom perfectly and without telltale bubbles from an aqualung, he could remain hidden for quite some time. Since the exercise had no time limit and he had to remain 'undetected' to pass, he just lay on the bottom enjoying the quiet and solitude.

The diver now had two partners who were going over the sunken cabin cruiser. They seemed to be waiting for something and Chuck noticed they were armed with gas-powered spear guns. There weren't a lot of fish in the harbor and Chuck went on alert. This might be part of the scenario. He didn't put it past Mako Madison to try and pull something to add 'elements of danger'.

* * *

'_Hey, Deuce, you up for a game?'_

'_What kind of game?'_

'_Well, if you were going to be marooned on a desert island, who would you most like to be marooned with?'_

'_What?'_

'_C'mon, Deuce. I'm bored. Help me out here.'_

'_OK, OK. Brad Pitt. Yeah, Brad Pitt. Or maybe Antonio Banderas? Let me take a poll…hang loose…'_

'_Never mind. Forgot you were a girl download. Forget it.'_

'_Wait, Chuck…it's official…Brad Pitt. 158 to 71. Second place went to Sean Connery but that was from the older integrateds.'_

'_Chuck? Who would you pick? Chuck? Hey, don't ignore us. Makes us feel…unwanted.'_

'_Sorry. I don't know. Not any more. Stupid game. Ladies, back in the box.'_

* * *

Time passed slowly and the first diver surfaced and then returned with additional tanks for the other divers. He'd been right. They were waiting for someone and he'd been smart to settle into a 'hide site' and observe. He slowed his breathing even more and figured from the readouts on the unit that he could stay down 6 more hours easily. After that, all bets were off. He checked his watch and figured the sun would set in 5 hours and then he could run the op and swim out to the pickup site.

One of the divers surfaced an hour later and Chuck waited to see if he would return with more tanks. He did. OK, that was it. His patience was about gone and he was hungry and thirsty. If Mako wanted an element of realism in the scenario he'd give her three.

He inched his way across the harbor floor using everything he could find to hide himself. He reached down and removed the large knife from his thigh and swam the remaining 5 yards as fast as he could. He hit the first diver from behind, pulling off his mask and cutting his regulator hose. One down.

The diver had released his weight belt and surged to the surface. Idiot. If he got the bends it was his own damned fault. He swam the length of the hulk and popped up in front of the 2nd diver. From the look on his face Chuck was the last thing he expected to see. He tried to push away in order to use his spear gun but the intersect flash had prepared Chuck and he grabbed the diver's harness and pulled him closer, tore his facemask off and then cut his air hose.

The last diver saw the attack and swung up and around trying to get a shot at Chuck. Mako apparently believed in maximum realism because the diver shot his partner in the chest as Chuck swung him around using him as a shield. The spear went entirely through the diver and was stopped by the other's aqualung tanks.

The last attacker drew a knife and a small weapon that looked like a trank gun modified for underwater use. This was _not_ Madison's scenario on steroids.

Chuck kept hold of the wounded diver whose thrashing grew less and less violent as he bled out. The last diver fired the smaller weapon and Chuck twisted around and the dart missed him. He pushed the dead diver into the other diver's path and advanced, his knife held in a high guard position, the smaller knife in his left hand, low almost behind him.

He grabbed the other diver, twisted him around to cut his air hose but he'd swung his knife back and up, damaging Chuck's rebreather unit in the process. The enemy diver tried to twist loose but Chuck pulled his mouthpiece from his mouth and then tore off his mask.

The diver tried to push away but he held him, ignoring the sudden pain in his thigh until the other diver lost consciousness. He let him sink to the harbor floor and then did a quick assessment. The scenario was over. Someone knew he was coming, knew he was the intersect and had tried to capture him. Game over, man. Time to head home. Beckman was probably going to insist on WitSec since 'Carmichael' was apparently as well known as 'Bartowski'. Oh, shit, oh dear.

* * *

**Marathon Harbor  
****Marathon, FL  
****Aboard the Yacht **_**Vesper**_

The ring Operative known as 'Duquesne' was angry. This was supposed to be a simple snatch and it had turned into a rat screw. Two of his divers were probably dead and the third was trying to patch his regulator and air hose but couldn't prevent it from leaking. All the spares were still on the harbor floor attached to exhausted tanks.

"OK, we're going for the kill. Once he's killed he should float up to the surface and we'll confirm his identity and collect our money. Boys, dig out the concussion grenades and those Semtex charges. We'll have to leave harbor in a hurry but it'll be worth it."

**Marathon Harbor Floor**

'_Chuck, you're bleeding! Blood in the water, Chuck! Mako sharks! Great Whites! Hammerheads! Tiger sharks! You watched Shark Week on A&E so we know what's coming…hungry sharks!'_

'_Shut up, Deuce. Please. Trying to think here and you're not helping. The rebreather is shot so we need to surface. Scenario's over. We'll swim to the shoreline and hide out until full dark then contact Mako for a pickup. That's the plan. Now, please, quit humming the Jaws music. God Save Ireland!'_

Chuck looked around. There was a 'mist' of slightly red water surrounding the hulk and where there'd been no fish before there were now several small schools milling around, some individual fish nibbling at the bodies.

The 'air' processing through the rebreather unit was rank and it was all he could do not to cough. With a brain fart he swam back to the drowned diver and took off his tanks and put them on after he'd dumped the rebreather. Taking a deep breath of cool air he started swimming towards the harbor marina.

The yacht that served as the base for the divers cruised over his location and Chuck saw several small objects and two large ones splash into the backlit water. The sun was about to set and he needed to be elsewhere.

Chuck started swimming as fast as he could away from the yacht's course. As the objects floated down they exploded one by one as the fusing ignited their explosives. Most of the blast effects were upwards since water does not compress. He was tossed around a bit by the blast wave transmitted through the water but still swam for the marina. He knew what the large objects were: large explosive charges to force him to the surface like a U-boat in the movies.

**Air/Sea Training Center  
Ops C****ommunications Room**

The sailor on duty took the landline call from the Marathon police. Was the Center conducting unannounced operations in the harbor using explosives?

Mako Madison charged into the Commo Room and demanded a sitrep. When she'd been informed of the police query and the additional information about the Motor Yacht Vesper's actions she tripped the alert alarm and began issuing orders per procedures established before she was born.

She alerted her Ready Response Team and ran to the Scorpion preparing to go to war. She hadn't felt this alive in years. She dialed the special events number she'd been given when Carmichael appeared and was surprised when Beckman answered on the 2nd ring.

"Yes, Master Chief? What's he done now?" She was in a good mood. After explaining the facts of life to Agent Walker and contacting Agent Rico to prepare for deep cover assignment as Carmichael's partner she had been clearing her desk and preparing to go home early for a change.

"He's under attack by unknown forces in Marathon Harbor. He's running a training scenario and the local harbor cops contacted us regarding depth charge use in the Harbor without notification. We're underway with an RRT to assist him but I wanted you in the loop. He's overdue but I figure he twigged to something being off and laid doggo on the harbor floor until something happened that brought out the big guns. I'll keep you informed, General." She hung up. She was in command, not Beckman, and she had things to do.

The hydrofoil was capable of 60kts and Mako instructed the helmsman to exceed it if possible, that 'one of their own' was in trouble. Crewmen were already emplacing dual .50 caliber machine guns in the bow mount and the 20mm auto cannon mounted in the stern. Unless they ran into a real warship they'd be able to hold their own against the enemy.

"Uncase the colors, boys, we're going to war."

**Marathon Harbor  
M****arathon, FL  
****Aboard the Yacht **_**Vesper**_

"Run back towards the public fuel station. According to our contact at the Center that's his objective. Drop the rest of the concussion grenades and then dump a pattern of Semtex. Watch for floaters. We'll pull them aboard and identify any we find."

"Boss, we've got company coming. Our contact at Marathon Training called. The Navy's hydrofoil just pulled out at max speed and is headed out way. We got about 10 minutes to escape the harbor and then we're almost 30 minutes from international waters."

Duquesne did some quick calculations, frowned, and then took out his cell.

"This is Duquesne. We're eliminating the target. Our divers couldn't capture him. We're about to be guests of the US Navy. Don't forget us. I'm setting the self-destruct and we're going over the side."

He listened and then grinned. He'd follow his leader into Hell's fires. He and his men wouldn't be left to rot long in the government prison. The Ring took care of its own.

One of his bow lookouts shouted that he'd spotted bubbles from a diver and Duquesne ordered the helmsman to intercept. He'd have his victory and the Ring would have theirs, ensuring his quick release from whatever hellhole the Feds dumped him in.

**Marathon Harbor Floor**

Chuck watched over his shoulder as the yacht changed course to intercept him. He was about 300 yards from the shoreline and figured he'd be ashore long before they could reach him. He swam to the surface and took the picture of the public fuel depot and stowed the camera back in his waterproof bag. He'd cheated and brought his 9mm along even though it was useless underwater. Still, he never left home without it. It was fast becoming his favorite toy.

The yacht was picking up speed so he dove to the harbor floor and changed his course to pass the yacht a good 50 yards to port in case they decided on another pass with their charges. Even as he spoke, he saw splashes in the water marking another attempt to make him surface. It was exactly where he'd been a few minutes before.

He checked his air supply and changed course again 90 degrees to the oblique. He wondered if they were lucky or his bubbles had been spotted? Chuck swam as fast as he could leaving a faint trail of blood. He ignored the pinching in his thigh with each movement of his leg. He'd left the diver's knife where it had been stuck, not wanting to have an increase in blood in the water by removing it.

"Bubbles! More bubbles." The yacht changed course again and slowed. The crew dumped the rest of their prepared explosives and then the yacht accelerated for the harbor mouth.

Chuck surfaced and watched as the yacht slowed and then stopped about where he'd dumped the tanks and cracked the regulator valve assuring a steady stream of bubbles. He watched the crew dump concussion grenades and satchel charges and laughed and changed course again, swimming towards the distant lights of the public marina.

**Aboard the US Navy Hydrofoil **_**Scorpion**_

The _Scorpion _cleared the Harbor mouth and leveled out and headed toward the last known position of the _Vesper_ reported by the Harbor Police. The Harbor Police were not equipped to take on criminals armed with automatic weapons and explosives. Their usual quarry was the occasional speeder or drunk, not armed assailants so they had gladly handed off all responsibility to the Navy.

Mako watched using night vision goggles as the improvised depth charges exploded and heard one of the enemy crew give a cheer and then she had the microphone to the loud hailer in her hand and began giving her standard maritime Miranda warning to the yacht as it tried to lumber past them. "This is the United States Navy hydrofoil Scorpion. You are ordered to cut your engines and prepare to be boarded. Any resistance will be met with deadly force. You have one minute to comply."

She waited 5 seconds and then gave the order to target the bridge and to open fire. There would be no shot across the bow. Her trainee was probably dead and that pissed her off most greatly.

Ten minutes later it was over. The scuttling charges had blown the bottom out of the Vesper and the burning hulk had settled to the harbor sea floor. Someone would be along to comb the wreckage for any intelligence. All but two of the crew had died in the strafing or the explosion. They were currently awaiting processing by Navy personnel who would turn them over to representatives of the NSA when they arrived by chopper from Miami.

* * *

There was no sign of her trainee and this distressed her on several levels.

"General, this is Master Chief Madison. We have combed the harbor surface without finding a body. One of the prisoners told my interrogator that they'd grappled with a diver at 80 feet and that he was pretty sure that he saw a spear from a spear gun sticking out of his chest. He couldn't be sure because Carmichael had cut his air hose and ripped off his mask and was wrestling with a 2nd diver when the third diver fired his spear gun. We'll continue to search and at sunup I'll have a team of divers combing the harbor floor."

"Keep me advised. I want to be notified immediately of any new developments without regard to time of day, is that understood, Master Chief?"

"Yes, ma'am. Understood. General, who the hell was he? I mean he fought off three trained divers, flew a chopper through an EMP and was deep cover for 3 years and he's a _trainee_? Who the hell was Carmichael?"

"Just a young man who answered an email, Master Chief, nothing more. Just a nice young man who got dealt a rotten hand. Beckman, out."

Beckman pushed a button on her intercom. "Find Agents Walker and Rico and have them report to me immediately." There would be a reckoning.

A/N: There's a mole someplace. Betcha can't guess where?


	9. Death of Carmichael and Other Things

NoMoreNextTimes09

Charah cometh, just not right now.

* * *

**Marathon Harbor**  
**Marathon, FL**

He'd reached his physical limit about the same time he swam head first into a piling supporting the public fueling depot that had already closed for the day and knocked him silly. He started to pull himself up a ladder to the refueling dock but was just too tired to do it. He had no reserves left to call upon and he knew he wouldn't be able to hold on long without either falling asleep or passing out from exhaustion. A part of him wondered how he'd have completed the scenario anyway since it required him to swim out almost 3 miles into the Atlantic for pickup.

He took his weight belt off and let it drop to the harbor floor. He didn't care if it was government equipment; it was too damned heavy to continue wearing. He had no idea why he hadn't dumped it when he'd dropped the 'borrowed' tanks. Too tired to think, he guessed. He pulled himself behind the ladder and then gingerly 'sat' on one of the rungs, wrapping his arms around a higher rung and laughed softly to himself. He was 'sitting this one out'.

'Chuck, flares, Chuck. You have two emergency flares in case it's dark during the pickup. Use the flares, Chuck, use the damned flares!'

'_Go 'way. Tired.'_

'_Bartowski, use the damned flares! The tide's going out and they'll never find your body. They'll think you failed, Chuck. Shaw will whisper in Sam's ear that you really were a loser and she'll believe it. Is that what you want? She'll never know the truth. No one will. Wake up and fire the damned flare, loser!'_

* * *

**Aboard the US Navy Hydrofoil **_**Scorpion**_

The Harbor Police had finally come out to play and grab headlines. Their two motor launches and speedboat were jammed with reporters and they'd been running a grid search pattern and had fired flares twice to indicate that they'd recovered a floater. That had been two hours ago and nothing had been found since.

Each time the Scorpion had broken off the search pattern and Madison had checked the body to see if she'd found Beckman's trainee. One body had been a deck crewman, pretty badly burned, but the second had been a figure in a wet suit and flippers but that one was an enemy diver with a spear through his chest. The captured diver had been right, just wrong about which body had been speared.

"Master Chief, aerial flare on the shore line near the civilian fuel depot!"

"Helmsman, set course for the depot. Flank speed. Let's check this one out ourselves and let the locals run the grid."

* * *

**NSA Headquarters  
****FT Meade, MD  
****8pm **

Once again Daniel Shaw was cooling his heels in General Beckman's outer office while his 'partner' was in a private meeting. He allowed his anger free reign for all of thirty seconds and then he pushed it back down in the dark place and resumed his placid exterior, devoid of emotion. It must be that damned Bartowski again. He was a useful tool but seemed to bring out all the worst qualities in the agents around him.

Spies should not love, feel emotions not necessary for the cover, or be concerned with the welfare of any one individual within the greater good. Personal involvement was anathema to the professional agent. It was a lesson he'd learned the hard, very personal way.

When the door opened he glanced up, expecting to see a tearful Sam. He was disappointed.

"C'mon, Daniel. We have things to do, people to spy on and people to kill. We're back in the game. Travel has our tickets, passports and backstory documents. We're off to Lisbon. Intel has a lead on a Ring agent who might be turned."

"Sam, why the private briefing? I'm senior age…"

"She informed me of a death in my family but it's too late to do anything about it, Daniel. The briefing would have included you except she thought I'd need privacy in the event I became 'emotional' I suppose. Now, come one. We have a lot to do before we leave and I need a drink, don't you? And just some quiet conversation, Daniel, and some quiet company, please?"

Agent Walker's reaction to the news of Bartowski's death was surprising. She'd watched as the light faded from her blue eyes and her body seemed to give a massive shudder and then she was back, the calm and self-assured agent with nothing on her mind but her job. Beckman knew better but also knew that the one thing Walker would not be able to handle was sympathy.

Beckman leaned back in her chair and pondered the ceiling tiles in her office for about the zillionth time in her career. She actually felt a pang of sorrow for Daniel Shaw. Tonight, when he slipped between the sheets he'd be sleeping with Death beside him and he wouldn't have a clue.

* * *

**BWI Airport  
****Baltimore, MD**

An NSA driver who knew nothing at all about why she'd been recalled from her leave by General Beckman met Deena Rico. She'd just finished replacing her wardrobe with money provided by the NSA when she'd received the call from one of the General's aides to return immediately for a meeting.

The call couldn't have come at a better time. Her mother had arranged a 'welcome home' dinner and her sisters had bombarded her with questions she couldn't answer fully or truthfully. When the conversation got around to her personal life she'd stunned them all with a comment.

"Yeah, I've met someone. He's unlike anyone I've ever met. He's smart, charming, dorky in a cool sort of way, and he can cook, Mom, really. We're supposed to be working together on some projects so maybe I could bring him home for a long weekend?"

Since she'd never, ever asked to bring someone home since college and that was a disaster, the entire family started cheering and talking and joking and asking her more about her 'mystery man' but the call from Beckman had interrupted them and saved her. From her father.

Tony Rico knew what his youngest daughter did for a living. She was not a contract physical trainer for the government like her mother and family believed. She was an NSA agent. He knew because she'd told him. And she'd told him because he was a retired NSA agent who'd been recruited in the Army's old ASA and had been double dipping until an IED had shortened the career of one Sergeant Major Anthony Rico and forced the retirement of Agent Anthony Rico.

She watched the passing traffic snarled on its daily creep back home from DC and shuddered. She never wanted to be stationed in DC. She'd spend half her time sitting in a car.

She wondered what Carmichael was up to. Probably drinking beer after a day swimming in the warm waters of the Florida Keys and eyeballing some hot waitress or bar bitch. Deena shook her head in disgust. She was jealous of a figment of her imagination.

* * *

**NSA Headquarters  
****FT Meade, MD **

It was nearly 10pm when Master Chief Madison called General Beckman with news that they'd recovered her trainee.

"General, we've picked Carmichael up and are taking him to the base hospital. One of the bastards stuck him good and he needs some tender loving care. He accomplished the scenario except for the extraction but I think I'll have to pass this NSA puke of yours since he's earned all this 'extra credit' in Marathon Harbor."

"I'm sending his new partner down to keep an eye on him. Make sure none of the opposition finds out he's still alive. I want you to put out the word that he died of his injuries. Make sure he's protected and that your crew understands that he died. I'll have his partner take him to a safe house assuming his wounds permit it."

"Will do, General. And send me more like him. It hasn't been this lively around here since…well, since forever."

"Oh, God, like we could handle more Carmichaels? Thankfully he's unique, Master Chief. Thanks for saving his ass, Mako. I owe you one."

"Um, sure General, but all I did was pluck him up off a ladder. He was asleep when we got there. When we got him on board the Scorpion the first thing he did was toss me the camera with the photograph of his objective and also one of the yacht we sank. I'll email you the jpegs as soon as I get to a computer."

Madison had a rude thought. Maybe staying here in the Keys wasn't such a bad idea after all. Beckman had more Carmichaels stashed away somewhere and she was certain she'd get to meet more. Maybe the next one would be older and she could scratch some itches.

Her helmsman ignored her giggles. Mako Madison did not giggle. There must be something wrong with the comm. unit. Master Chiefs never giggled. Ever.

* * *

**NSA Headquarters  
****FT Meade, MD **

"Agent Rico, I originally ordered you to return because I wanted to personally inform you of the death of Charles Carmichael but now that's unnecessary. Return to Miami, pack your bags for an extended stay away from support and meet a helicopter at Miami International. You'll fly to Marathon in the Keys and escort Carmichael to a safe house. Your orders, funds and travel documents are all with my Chief of Staff."

"Was he badly injured? Will he need medical treatment?"

"The physician at the Training Center can better advise you on any medical concerns. And there's one more thing…Carmichael is dead. Killed in a training accident. His new cover name is Drake. He can stay 'Charles' if he wishes but I recommend changing his given name also. It's his decision."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll tell him. Is that all?"

"Isn't that enough?" They shared a laugh and then she turned to leave but Beckman's next words stopped her cold.

"Deena, I don't want him to have anything more to do with Sarah Walker, is that perfectly clear? She's been told he's dead. Actually, when I met with her he was dead. Keep her from finding out he's alive. She's poison, Deena, and he's better off without her in his life. She's been a very painful distraction for him. She ran him through an emotional wringer and instead of being a support and guide she undermined him emotionally with her consistent denial of what anyone could see. He doesn't need a coward in his life."

"Yes, ma'am. No Walker. Ever. I understand perfectly."

"Good. John Casey will be liaison between your team and Headquarters. He'll meet up with you in the next few months. Give your father my regards when you speak to him and tell him the damned phone still works. That is all."

* * *

**NSA/CIA Air/Sea Training Center  
****Marathon, FL**

Master Chief Madison met Deena Rico's helicopter and then she personally escorted the shorter NSA agent to the medical building where Agent Drake was impatiently awaiting his release.

"How is he, Master Chief? The General was not very informative of his condition. Can he travel?"

"Can he travel? He's been climbing the walls since they took out the IV's and driving my medical people nuts. Are you absolutely certain that you want to take him home with you? I mean, really, he's a hand full, even for an old hand like me. Stubborn, willful, stubborn, did I say 'stubborn'?"

Deena laughed and then got serious. "Remember, Master Chief, Carmichael is dead. Charles Drake the man you're releasing into my custody."

Deena stopped at the nurses' station to sign some paperwork and get his medications while Madison went to Chuck's room.

"Agent Drake, get out of my Center. You passed, barely, and your escort is here to take you to someplace I hope keeps you far from this place." She grinned, softening what could have been construed as an insulting comment.

"Seriously, Chuck, you did very well and if it wasn't for the fact that you're dead I'd have had a helluva party to celebrate your passage into the ranks of Navy divers…but I can't. So, take my congratulations and skedaddle. You're a trouble magnet and I'm too close to retirement to put up with the likes of you."

"Thanks, Master Chief. I hope I don't have to come back here either, except on vacation. Where's my escort? I'm packed and ready to get out of your rapidly graying hair."

"She's signing you out and taking possession. If you ever need a diver or a boat driver for one of your escapades, keep me in mind. Now, go, before we get struck by a tsunami or invaded by sea monsters."

When Chuck walked out into the hallway with Mako Madison and saw Deena Rico waiting for him the older woman saw him really smile for the first time. He looked like a little kid on Christmas morning finding out he got his wish.

"Chuck!" She dropped all pretense of being the 'consummate professional agent' and ran to him and hugged him. "I thought I told you to stay out of trouble after you nearly killed us in the chopper, mister? Well, now you have a keeper 24/7, partner."

If his smile was wide when he saw her, her announcement made him smile even wider. "That's…that's great! How did you pull it off? I thought Beckman had a couple more Hell weeks in store for me?"

"Well, Agent Drake, considering your performance in the past 3 weeks I guess she figured she couldn't stand any more damage to her budget and just gave up. Now, let's catch the bird for Miami. I've got a lot to tell you and then I have some people I want you to meet."

Madison called to him from the door. "Drake, don't take your bag through a metal detector. There's a present or two in it from me. Don't cut yourself shaving!"

As they walked toward the waiting helicopter Rico asked him about the past few days and he just laughed. "Later, Deena, when I'm sure I won't be attacked, blown up, shot down or mugged. I'll tell you the entire story of the Death of Carmichael complete and unabridged. But right now I'd like to know where we're going?"

"Chuck, don't be mad. The General called me when I was flying in from Miami. We're staying at my place for a few days until the safe house is ready. I think you'll like it. My place, I mean. It's near the beach and we can take walks until your leg heals enough that we can run you into the ground. OK? Please?"

"Sure. Why would I be mad? What aren't you telling me?"

She mumbled something and urged him to get on the chopper. "Deena Marie Rico, what aren't you telling me?" She looked at him, forgetting for a moment he was the intersect and knew all about her, well, almost all.

"Chuck, I – I – I live with my parents, OK? If it's a problem we can get a motel room. I just…I just wanted them to meet you. It's OK with Beckman. My dad's retired NSA, Chuck. Don't freak out on me. Say something!"

"Cool. I lived with my sister. How can I complain. One question though."

"Yeah? Oh, sleeping arrangements. No problem. We have 4 empty bedrooms."

"No, not that. I want to know if I have to do the cooking?"

"Bastard! You had to complain to Beckman about that, too. I almost died of embarrassment, Chuck."

"Tough. Live with it. I'll cook for now, Deena, but I'm not your Domestic God, comprendes? You will learn how to cook or at least develop a good selection of take out menus when we finally get where we're going."

They hadn't realized they'd been holding hands since leaving the dispensary. She blushed and he tried to take his hand back but she held on. He looked at her and gave her a thin smile. "Am I missing something here, Deena?"

"When Beckman gave me my new orders, Chuck, she said she had ordered me back to tell me personally that you were dead. I could feel myself die a little, and it hurt so badly, but then she said you were alive and I was so happy. Charles Drake, I'm sure you'll let you know when I've crossed the line, OK?"

"Works for me, partner." His only fear was that the line she spoke of was very tenuous and wasn't really a line at all.

* * *

_**A/N: whatchathinkin'? I think it's a nice stopping point. Let your minds fill in the blanks. Oh, wait, the Walker issue…can't leave her hanging around with the Door Stop, or maybe I should.**_


	10. Ups and Downs and a Walk in the Woods

NoMoreNextTimes10

**_A/N: [Yawn] My interest is flagging. So is Nik. Imagine threatening me if I bump her character off. I warned her not to invest herself in Deena. Chuck always finds his way back…unless it's Lou. Now, I want to hurry and finish this before the show is cancelled or they do something to bump the Stump off._**

**_This is for TW200 and NickyR who seem to be almost beside themselves with worry. Nik says I should post all 17 and be done with it but that's because she has other interests...LOL Lucky me..._**

****

_APR_

The Bell Jet Ranger landed at the Miami Int'l Airport Heliport and Chuck and Deena walked, ok, Chuck _limped_, into the terminal annex. "Chuck, my pool car's parked out front but I could hear your stomach growling over the Ranger's turbine so let's feed you and we can talk about cover stuff. OK?"

* * *

Chuck ordered breakfast for them and as they drank coffee Deena started in on their cover.

"We're going international for a while but first the General wants both of us to run through the quickie course at FT Bragg. Normally it's taught at Benning but there's a full cycle going through now so it's Bragg and the 82nd. We'll be staying off-post in a motel since it's a civvies course, and our cover is as newlyweds. Beckman's got a weird sense of humor."

She knew it was to keep Chuck from asking questions about his former handlers. They'd meet up with Casey sometime in the next few months but the whole initial operation was geared toward avoiding Walker and getting Drake trained and acclimated to life in the NSA.

Chuck swallowed his coffee carefully. Newlyweds? Beckman normally just issued common-name passports and let the agents figure out their own game plan. She was taking far too much personal interest in one intersect host for his liking.

"That's fine with me if you can handle it. It's not like…hell, Deena; I'm the new kid on the block. I'll need you to guide me through this spy/relationship crap. I don't have a clue how it should go."

"Um, newlyweds? Just married? Hanging all over each other? Never apart? It's ideal for the 24/7 aspects of your cover and protection. Once we finish the 3 days at Bragg we'll get new orders and head out to parts unknown. Aren't you excited, Chuck?"

"Yeah, I guess. Just a little uncertain how you feel about all this. I'm used to being 'told' to play up the cover role and I'm fine with it but you don't have the same deep cover experiences. Are you OK with this?"

She reached across the table and grasped his hand and looked into his eyes. "More comfortable with this than I think you are, big boy. Chuck, we've already had the most important aspect of our relationship defined by us back at Desert One. I trust you and feel safe with you. What else matters?"

* * *

**Rico Residence  
****Miami, FL**

"Dad, this is Charles Drake, my partner in crime. Chuck, this is former Command Sergeant Major Tony Rico, US Army, retired and NSA secret agent, retired." She giggled and her dad shot her a glare.

"Deena, you should show a little more respect for your elders. So Charles, Charlie, Chuck? Which do you prefer?" He like this tall man and it was obvious that his daughter _really_ liked him. He was the first guy she'd brought home since her freshman year in college. What a disaster that kid had been!

"Chuck, sir. I answer to almost anything anymore but Chuck works best." Tony Rico was tall, broad and about 60 years old. And it was obvious that Deena was his 'baby girl' and someone like Chuck brought up the defense mechanisms automatically.

"So you work directly for Diane, huh? Watch her, Chuck. She's meaner than a pissed-off rat by nature and worse if she doesn't get her way. I know that from experience. Still, she's a military strategist and politician and plays the game well in a man's world. Always keep that in mind. She'll spend you like loose change if she has to but always with the best of intentions." He saw Chuck's eyes narrow and then he slowly nodded his head. This 'boy' knew from experience what happens when she's thwarted.

"I'll keep that in mind. The General and I have had an interesting relationship these past 3 years. Like the Chinese curse, 'May you live in interesting times' interesting."

The elder Rico clapped Chuck on the back and laughed. "You'll do, Chuck, you'll do. Now, let's slip inside and steal some beer from the refrigerator while Deena goes in and prepares her mother for the good news."

"Good news?"

"Yeah. You can stay in the house. Not like the last butt hole she brought home. Tattoos, long hair and a ring in his fucking eyebrow! Disgusting. And I let her know it, too. He found himself a motel room. So, let's get the beer and we can swap lies."

"Daddy! He wasn't all that bad and I told you about him before I brought him home."

"Yeah, but you forgot to _describe_ him, baby girl. Now, scoot! We'll be on the sun porch getting drunk before your sisters arrive. Chuck, you got to be drunk to put up with her sisters. Like geese. They sound just like a gaggle of geese."

* * *

**On the Road to FT Bragg  
6 Days Later**

Chuck's stitches had been removed the previous morning and they'd headed up to jump training at FT Bragg with Deena driving and Chuck napping as a defense measure because she drove way over the speed limit.

Chuck had enjoyed his time with the Rico family. Deena's three sisters were all married to servicemen. Her younger brother was at the Air Force Academy and her older brother was a platoon leader in Iraq. They did sound like geese when they all got together and prattled on about things. Tony had been right.

"Deena, what is it with girl spies. You all speed. Walker used to hit triple digits on the interstate and drove like a banshee. Is it a perquisite to girl spy school?"

"No, but it helps. Maybe they'll let you take the driver's course some time. Now, go back to sleep, baby, and let momma drive.

The 17-hour trip took 13 hours and that was only because they stopped to eat.

* * *

"See Chuck, I told you Daddy could grease our way past all the B.S. and you didn't believe me. Well, say something."

"OK, you were right, Ms. Drake. As always. Your dad taught me that, too."

"Bite me, Chuck."

"Later."

**FT Bragg, NC  
****Special Warfare Center**

When Chuck registered at the motel desk he got the strangest look from the clerk on duty when he asked if he had a room with two double beds.

"Nope. Most people who stay here are visiting soldiers and believe you me they do not need two double beds so no, sir, don't have any."

Chuck sighed and agreed to a single with a king-sized bed. Maybe if he kept enough distance between them…

They reported in to the Staff Duty NCO who placed a phone call and a burly Sergeant Major wearing a green beret met them before they had a chance to draw their equipment.

"So you're Tony's little girl? Last time I saw you was in '93. So how's the old man doing? Still complaining about everything?"

The entire process had been 'greased' and instead of standing around waiting to be in-processed their packets were taken and completed while Chuck was fitted out with BDUs, boots and TA-50 gear. By 2pm he'd already completed several 'blocks of instruction' and was scheduled for his first jump in 30 minutes.

**Over Normandy Drop Zone  
FT Bragg, NC**

The jumpmaster screamed in Chuck's ear to 'stand up, hook up, shuffle to the door' even though Chuck was the only jumper. Some things were tradition and were not to be flaunted. When the pilot toggled the jump status light to green for 'GO' he went.

Two hours later he did it again.

Ninety minutes later he repeated his actions from a lower altitude jumping only the reserve to simulate a 'main chute deployment malfunction'. He landed badly, shook it off and gathered his chute into the bag and waited on his pickup.

Three hours after that he had his first and only 'night jump' in the waning light of the day. It was dusk when he 'egressed the aircraft' but dark as a banker's heart when he landed. Deena was in the jeep that met him as he bundled the heavy nylon into a bag provided for the purpose. By 10pm Charles Drake, NSA was a jump-certified agent-in-training. His reward was a toe-curling kiss from the missus.

When the jeep dropped them off at the car park where they'd left the pool car, Deena broached dinner. She was starved since the last meal she'd had was breakfast and she lost that to nerves when Chuck made his first jump.

"What do you feel like having for dinner, Chuck? Ribs, steak, fish? Lots of choices here in Fayetteville."

"You choose. You're the one who's always right. You choose. Just nowhere I have to get all dressed up. I'm in a grunge mood, OK?"

They pulled into the motel lot and Chuck was shedding dirty and sweat-soaked BDUs and Deena trudged along behind him picking things up.

"Fine. I'll pick…Ribs, fries and beer."

"You're going to be so fat some day, Deena." Chuck was in the shower already half clean when the ice bucket full of cold water was dumped over the curtain.

"I know where you sleep at night, Rico. You are so going to pay for that!" Actually he didn't mind the cold water. It took his mind of his partner who was probably standing naked outside the shower curtain waiting impatiently for her turn.

"Chuck, hurry up. I stink and I should have gone first because I'm a girl."

He mumbled under his breath "Yeah, like I could ever forget that…"

"What was that, Charles? Speak up. Sound off like you got a pair." She'd been listening to those damned drill sergeants marching recruits while he went through the 12-foot tower review. He'd heard it too and thought it was funny because all the trainees for airborne in that group were women. He laughed.

"What's so funny, Chuck?"

"Those trainees being yelled at were all women. They 'ain't got no pair'." He laughed and that was his mistake. She pulled back the shower curtain and he saw she was naked and his mouth hung open and then closed when she said innocently "Maybe he meant a pair of these? Whatcha think there, Chuckles? Now, out, trainee Drake and let the experienced agent lose her stink then we eat."

He walked into the bedroom and yelled "Deena Rico, would you please stop doing that. I am only human, y'know. Now hustle and let's get going. I'm hungry." _'And now I need another shower – a cold one. I will resist. I will not submit. I will resist.' _He repeated what was fast becoming a prayer spoken to himself and hopefully overheard by some Higher Power. God but she was beautiful and he was, after all, a guy.

* * *

**FT Bragg, NC  
****Escape and Evasion Exercise**

Three burly Green Berets stopped Deena Rico at the entrance to the briefing building. The smallest of the trio smiled and apologized but informed her that only 'participants' in the exercise were allowed beyond that point. Chuck just smiled and told her he'd see her later and followed his instructor into the building.

"Now listen up, troop, I'm his partner and my orders are to go where he goes. Now, step aside before someone gets hurt." The larger Green Beret laughed at her and nudged his partner. "Oh, dear. I'm frightened." He laughed again but stopped when Deena stuck a 9mm Beretta in his crotch and said 'Move it or lose 'em. I got orders."

The smaller Green Beret grinned and said, "I'll go get the boss. It's up to him." He understood orders.

He returned accompanied by a short major with a bad attitude. "I don't care if you're the Queen of England, orders here are that Drake goes through the course, not Drake and his babysitter. He makes it on his own, Agent Rico, or not at all. Besides, what can possibly happen to him in the middle of a US Army exercise area?"

Deena snorted and then laughed. "Major, if only you knew. I guess I'll have to appeal to a higher authority in order to comply with my orders." She took out a cell and speed-dialed General Beckman. She got his Chief of Staff who said he understood her predicament but could do nothing about it and she should 'stand down' and await his return. He also reiterated the Major's comment about 'what could happen…?'

The instructor carried the plastic bin of 'contraband' items not permitted to be carried on the exercise and shook his head as he returned them to Drake's partner.

"Agent, here are the contraband items he was carrying. You can return them to him when he returns day after tomorrow…or sooner if he's caught and cracks. Only had three agents every elude capture and they were all CIA not NSA so be here Wednesday morning bright and early to retrieve him. He sure did carry an arsenal."

Rico took the bin and looked through the contents. 9mm pistol, silencer and 3 spare magazines, belt knife, a thin dive knife given to him by Master Chief Madison as a graduation present and the enemy dive knife he'd 'carried' in his thigh until it was removed in the dispensary. There also was his newly issued cell phone and his wallet.

She glanced up and watched the Blackhawk helicopter carrying her partner head off to the interior of the FT Bragg Military Reservation. She felt sick to her stomach that he was going alone.

Her cell rang twenty minutes later and she answered professionally. "Rico, secure but in public."

"Beckman. My Chief was wrong, Agent. Drake goes nowhere alone. Hand the phone to the Major and I'll settle this now."

"Ma'am, he's already departed for the exercise area. His Blackhawk left 20 minutes ago."

"Well then, what's done is done. Apparently the people there interpreted their orders instead of following them. Contact me when he's either apprehended or evacuated. He's a trouble magnet, Deena, and I don't doubt for one minute he'll be caught, probably after falling from a tree or something equally preposterous. Well, at least this time Fulcrum and the Ring are in the dark."

* * *

**Hotel Bienvenu  
Lisbon, Portugal**

"Daniel, stay on your side of the bed. I told you to get a double but you had to have your way so get this through your head, I'm not going to have sex with you. I'm done with it. I told you that back in Burbank. I lost any interest in making love when I lost _who _I loved. So for your own safety, stay on your side of the bed…the far side."

And to emphasize her commitment, she placed one of her throwing knives under her pillow beside her 9mm.

* * *

A/N: I may just post the thrilling conclusion and be done with all this writing. I'm getting too old for this.  
APR


	11. I Lied A LONG Walk in the Woods

NoMoreNextTimes11

* * *

**FT Bragg, NC  
E&E Exercise Area**

Chuck stepped off the skid and walked calmly to the tree line some 40 yards away. His mind was going over the instructions in the intersect as well as reviewing the scenario instructions. He'd been handed a partial map of the area and a compass and sent on his way. His equipment consisted of his LBE, compass, a first aid packet, two MREs, a canteen and an empty scabbard. Trainees were not allowed weapons since the realistic nature of the exercise might prompt some to attack the aggressor forces rather than elude them.

His map showed his drop-off location as well as the general location of 3 'safe' houses where food and water waited in a supposedly 'neutral' area. HA! That's where most of the trainees were captured. There were no safe or neutral areas out here, just trees and underbrush and the occasional meandering stream. The weather was on his side and the thunderheads were building off to the southwest signifying a storm. He could handle being wet. He didn't know how he'd fare if captured.

Chuck thought about his situation. The scenario required that each participant sign in at one of the safe houses once during the exercise. Chuck had no intentions of offering himself up for easy capture. They'd work for it. He started weaving his 'cloak of invisibility', a makeshift Ghillie cloak to make it harder for them to spot him. He had no way to reduce his thermal signature.

It was almost noon before he'd finished with his weaving. It was a pretty good job if he did say so himself. In addition to providing concealment, it would also shed rain for a while. He found a stream and smeared mud over his face and through his hair and splattered it liberally over the BDUs he was wearing and then put on the Ghillie cloak. He oriented the map toward north and set an indirect course for the farthest of the three 'safe houses' and started off at an easy jogging pace.

He almost walked into the first of the aggressor forces he'd been trying to evade. The patrol leader had called a break in a clearing and they'd broken out the MREs and several were smoking cigarettes – bad trade craft. He debated just waiting and following them back to their base of operations but decided to just skirt this group once he determined their direction of travel.

The group had been sitting and eating talking and smoking for almost 30 minutes when the first drops of rain started to fall – big, fat drops. The patrol leader had them break out their rain gear and then headed off in the general direction Chuck had just come from.

He'd counted the men in the patrol when he'd first seen them and he counted them off as they left, single file, silent as death. They were two men short!

He knew from his intersect download that this was a classic and standard practice of long-range patrols to leave a man or two behind to ensure they weren't being followed. His respect for the patrol leader doubled. The noisy smoking and joking had all been a ruse to make any trainees think they were up against flaky troops when nothing was farther from the truth.

He sat in his hide, deep in a thicket of brush, and watched and waited. Sure enough, two soldiers in aggressor BDUs rose from the underbrush near him and then silently followed their patrol. If he'd just followed his first instinct and gone on when the patrol had left he'd have been in the bag.

He waited in the rain for another half hour and then continued on his course for the required safe area sign-in. He started off by following the patrol's path into the clearing and followed it for about three hundred yards before continuing off the track and back onto the course he'd set. He jogged slowly for a bit then stopped and listened in case there were other patrols on the move.

* * *

It was almost dark when he reached the safe area and he resisted the urge to just walk on in and sign the roster page and take advantage of the neutral rules and catch some sleep in the dry shed. He was glad he didn't.

Chuck froze when he heard the 'clink' of metal on metal. The shed was under observation and he decided to wait until full darkness before slipping in, signing the damned roster page, and slipping back out. According to the briefing, a second map section would be on the table beside the roster and 'if he made it that far' it would show the second leg of the E&E exercise.

He smiled as the rain came down heavier and the occasional flash of lightning gave him a brief view of the raised shed and the surrounding areas. If he had been running the scenario, the entire area would be surrounded by trip wires and flares to alert the aggressors if they had visitors. Figuring he'd been right on the money so far, Chuck began crawling the 30 yards to the shed.

He found the first trip wire and flare and stuck a twig through the safety and moved on. He did the same with the second but stopped when he got to the third trip wire…that ended in a small anti-personnel mine. The intersect flash told him it was an 'inert' training mine with only a simple black powder charge to add realism. Chuck detached the taut trip wire and safed the mine and pulled it out of the ground and carried it with him.

It really started to rain hard and the thunderstorm was in full swing and he was enjoying the hell out of it. The flashes of lightning would stop them from using night vision goggles and lying there in the soggy ground surrounding the shed was the last place they'd look for him.

He'd almost dozed off when he heard the sound of a walkie-talkie breaking squelch. From inside the shed. Damn them! He should have known they'd break with the mission brief. Well, then so would he. He backtracked to the flare he'd 'safed' and detached it and its trip wire and did the same with three more he found and then crawled up under the shed. It was dry and if he ran into a snake, he'd have something warm to eat.

* * *

'_Yech. That was so macho, Chuck. I'm getting so hot thinking about it…not!'_

'_Not now, Deuce. I have mayhem to perpetrate. Go back in the box. You'll get your hair wet. Hey! I never asked. What color is your hair? Actually, what do you look like?'_

_Silence._

'_Deuce?'_

'_Hey, Deuce, you still there?'_

'_I – I – I don't know! I never thought about it. What do I 'look like' to you?'_

'_Well, 5'9" or so, awesome figure, long legs, blonde hair, bluest blue eyes, beautiful smile and a wicked sense of humor.'_

_Silence._

_More silence._

'_I got to go, Deuce. Talk to you later. In the box, babe.'_

'_You just described Sam Walker, Chuck. Do you think I look like her? Really? That's not at all who I thought you'd describe me as.'_

'_I – I don't have time for this right now. OK? Back in the box, Deuce.'_

* * *

Chuck crawled slowly out from under the shed. He stopped and listened and then tied the trip wire to the bottom step and across the path leading from the shed. Then he crawled back underneath and got the anti-personnel mine, set it so it would 'explode' at the base of the steps up into the shed and set the trip wire across the steps. He daisy-chained the remaining flares so that to a confused observer it would appear as if he'd run across the field towards the southeast setting off flares in his panic.

He scraped mud off the face of his watch and noted that it was almost 1am. He'd wait a bit then set off the trip wire on the flare and be ready to take out the aggressor when he came out onto the steps. The plan was to take advantage of the confusion and slip in, sign the roster, grab the map piece and be gone before they got over their confusion.

At 2am he heard squelch break on the walkie-talkie in the shed and a voice say quietly 'No signs of the trainee yet. He's probably holed up trying to keep dry.' There was quiet laughter at whatever the other party said then 'Yeah, I'm ready to relieve you. Let me get my rain gear on and I'll come to you.'

Chuck hunkered down underneath the two wooden steps leading up into the shed and waited. His plan had changed. He wouldn't 'engage the aggressors' since it was forbidden in the brief, he'd just fuck with their heads a bit instead.

He placed the mine so it was right in front of the bottom step and waited.

He heard footsteps overhead and then saw legs walking down the two steps and engaging the tripwire for the mine.

BOOM! And then the daisy-chained flares ignited and he heard the aggressor yell 'Son of a bitch! He's taken off to the southeast. Must have been hiding and then moved the mines around hoping to get in and get out again. He didn't know I was here. Let's get him and get back to the camp. I'll bring the trank pistol. I don't feel like chasing him until he runs into a tree or a patrol.'

Chuck hunkered down underneath the steps and waited for the other soldier to join up with the one standing above him. Within minutes Chuck was in the shed, had signed the roster page and taken the new map and MREs and was back out into the tree line. He was thoroughly soaked but didn't feel it. All this activity was keeping him warm and he prepped the MRE and hoped for lightning to enable him to see the damned map.

* * *

It stopped raining at 4am and by a little before 6 there was enough light for Chuck to make out the map. He had about 15km to go to the final checkpoint and then he was home free. Just as he started to stand he caught a whiff of tobacco smoke and he hunkered down into his hide and waited. Sure enough a patrol came whisper-quiet down the path he'd been preparing to head up.

Taking out the map and rethinking his approach he was startled when two more soldiers came down the path following the main body. There was enough light that if he could see them clearly they could see him as well. Shit! After all this time and misery he was about to put into the bag.

Anger overcame good judgment and he prepared to launch himself at the soldier bringing up the rear when a police whistle sounded from the direction the patrol had moved and the two men started sprinting toward the sound.

Breathing a sigh of relief he had a momentary thought that he was glad Deena wasn't along. She'd never have been able to keep up with him once he found his pace. He ran along the pathway following his azimuth and then stopped to catch his breath and plot a course change. He intended to run past the line of waypoint sheds and the cut behind them, approaching the final checkpoint from the rear. As before, he chose the checkpoint shed on the farthest side of the clearing.

Two hours later he was in the tree line immediately behind the shed. He couldn't see any flares sticking up from the ground but he didn't think for one minute that it was unguarded. He needed to get into that shed and sign the roster and pickup the final piece of the map. He looked at the sky and was pleased with the squall line that appeared to be heading for the general area he was in. He almost laughed when he saw the lightning cascading across the base of the clouds. Cover was coming.

He prepped another MRE and shuddered. It was the dreaded Jamaican pork slices. Yech. He drank from his canteen and reminded himself to pick up any water when he ran into the shed. The wind was picking up and the trees were bending with the wind and the rain started lashing out. He ran across the clearing and into the shed. He snatched the map piece, grabbed two water bottles, scrawled his name on the roster and ran back out to the tree line.

Once in the tree line he continued on for a hundred yards before stopping to catch his breath and listen for signs of pursuit. There were none. He looked at the map and laughed. He was only 5km from the finish. He didn't think it would be this easy so he stopped to sort things out. The second set of checkpoint sheds had been unguarded so either they figured he was still southeast of the sheds or they let him get in and out. That meant there was probably a cordon around the last checkpoint. If they didn't catch him at the first checkpoint, they'd cut him off and pick him up before the final one.

He checked his watch. Still 4 hours until dark. He found a depression in the hillside he was sitting on near some brush and lay down in it and covered himself with leaves and whatever else was on the forest floor and he slept. The only way they'd find him was if they stepped on him in his shallow grave.

It was still raining when he awoke, cold and wet and shivering. He drank the last of his water and ate the crackers from the MRE and took a compass bearing and headed off slowly for the final checkpoint. It was almost dark and he was so tired even after sleeping all that time.

He crested the top of a hill and froze. He smelled tobacco smoke again. He flattened himself against a tree and slid down onto his knees. He could see a line of foxholes between him and the final checkpoint that was well lit and had vehicles parked around it. His patience was almost at an end. He wanted nothing more than a hot shower and a warm bed and to listen to Rico tell him how she'd spent her day. Normal things. Sighing and wishing there was another way, he set off crawling toward his objective.

"Shhh, I hear something! Gimme the night vision goggles. I hear something." Chuck froze at the sound of voices not more than 3 or 4 yards from where he lay. It had stopped raining but the wind was still whipping through the trees. It was still overcast so he hoped the NVGs would prove useless.

"You're nuts. I didn't hear anything. It's just the wind. Here, take 'em. It's too dark to see with 'em anyway. Now it's my turn to sleep so keep it down. And quit smoking. The LT will skin you if he catches you."

"I tell ya I heard something out there." Chuck could see the dark outline of a man's head and shoulders in a hole to his left. From what he knew, there were holes spaced every 10 meters or so in a standard platoon defensive position but he wasn't prepared for what happened next.

"Keep watch. I gotta take a leak." Chuck watched as the dark outline rose from the foxhole and walked directly toward him. A thousand options flowed through his mind but the one option that played out was 'do nothing'.

He heard an 'ahhhhh' from directly above him and a stream of urine flowed over his back. He almost rose up and knocked the soldier on his ass but he could _see_ his objective and nothing would get in his way.

The soldier zipped up and walked back to his hole. Chuck just shook with rage but quelled it with the thought that at least he'd get to share something tangible of his adventure with Rico. He almost laughed out loud at the thought.

He crawled down the hill and then skirted the tree line and observed things for an hour, and took a nap before walking up to the fence and ringing the gong and demanding entry. He was dead on his feet.

* * *

The NCOIC of the 'reception station' took one look at Chuck and laughed. "I didn't think you'd make it, Drake, but damn, you sure fooled us. That bit with the mine was ballsy. Sign the roster, Drake, and I'll call your partner. She just left a couple of hours ago. She sure is a pistol. Wait here. I want a picture of this. That's some camouflage you're wearing."

Chuck sat down in the office and fell asleep.

The NCO took his picture and then saved a copy to a data stick and gave it to his partner who'd arrived back at the training area in record time.

"Chuck, Chuck! Wake up, sweetie. Oh my God, what's that smell?

"I got pissed on by some soldier. I just thought I'd share it with you. Ready to go?"

"Not in my car! You can take a shower here and change into the clothes I brought. Oh, Chuck, I'm so proud of you. My daddy will be so impressed. Not many make the course without being captured. There's a shower down the hall. Use it, please! You stink!"

A few minutes later Chuck called for Deena to bring a knife or some matches. He was covered with leeches. The NCO called the aid station and a medic appeared shortly with 'leech remover' and ointments and a shot of antibiotics to ward off infection. He just shook his head while he counted the leeches as he removed them and threw them into a toilet bowl. When Chuck had lain down in the 'shallow grave' he'd rung the dinner bell in leech land. The final count was 37.

He didn't remember the drive back to the motel and he didn't remember Deena undressing him and helping him to bed. He didn't know that she'd cried the whole way back to the motel and he didn't know that she emailed Beckman to tell her an NSA agent had finally finished the course.

He didn't know she'd emailed the General the photo of him sitting asleep in his Ghillie suit in the training office. He didn't know that she'd called her father and gushed about her partner for 30 minutes. He slept through all the good things the day brought but he didn't know – and wouldn't have cared.

* * *

Chuck woke up and froze. He was lying on his stomach and something was pinning his arm to the mattress. Mattress? It all came rushing back to him. He tried to get up but couldn't. He rolled over to pull his arm out from under whatever was pinning him down when it moaned. "It's too early to get up. Go back to sleep. You get a vacation day today. Beckman says 'congrats' and I say 'go back to sleep, sweetie'."

"Deena, I have to use the facilities unless you want the bed to smell like I did last night?" The weight disappeared and Chuck walked to the bathroom and then took a shower. He was covered with little blotches of white stuff and he didn't know why.

"Deena, c'mere. I'm covered with white splotches. What's up with that?"

A sleepy voice called out to him "Leech ointment, Chuck. If you count 'em, there're 37 of them, most on your back, butt and legs. You had 37 leeches on you when you checked in and took a shower. Don't you remember the medic and the shot and the leeches?" She staggered into the bathroom and yelled at him through the shower curtain. "Hurry up. I'll shower and then help you reapply the ointment. Then, unless you finally get the message, I'll take you to breakfast, my Hero."

Chuck was still not firing on all cylinders.

* * *

'_Message? What message?'_

'_Chuck, remember 7__th__ grade health class? The one where Coach told you about birds and bees? Remember?"_

'_We didn't learn about any damned messages.'_

'_Well, sweetie, maybe if you got your head out of your ass and quit being so oblivious, oh, that's right, the Higher Power thing. How's that working out for ya, Chuck?'_

* * *

**Lisbon, Portugal**

"Sam, I can't believe our intel was off that much. The address we were given is a Catholic Abbey and they have no idea who we're looking for. Any suggestions?"

She bit her tongue. She had a lot of suggestions but none she'd give voice to. Painful suggestions involving her knives and his tongue, severed brake lines on hills, dropping a radio in his bath, lots more.

"Maybe check in with the embassy and see if HQ has amended orders for us? We look like a bunch of amateurs out here, Shaw, and this is killing my rep, y'know? You're the hot shot Ring-Meister so use all that innate intelligence and run your contact list again."

Shaw bit his tongue. He thought of her moans those few nights in the Castle and in her hotel room and her passionate grunts as he took her in every way imaginable and vowed to put her in her place, on her back with her legs spread or on her knees before him. That was all she was good for any more.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the length, couldn't find a nice place to stop. This is something I did. Well, I got caught on the 3****rd**** day but I didn't have an intersect in my head. The leeches, the mines, the patrols, all real. SERE course. Not for the faint of heart. And no, I had nothing to do with Portugal.**

**APR**


	12. Sarah Drinks and Snoops and Sighs

Interelude01

A**_/N: I screwed up and didn't post this. It's contemporaneous with the jump school segment. Sorry. Old age and other distractions. Sarah still thinks Chuck's dead._**

**Flight 1035 BWI to Lisbon**

First class seating had its advantages. For one, she didn't have to rub elbows with Daniel and for another, the seating was much more comfortable than in the lesser classes. And she could drink without restraint.

"So, Daniel. We've been intimate and yet I know absolutely nothing about you. How long have you been an agent?"

"12 years, almost 13. I was recruited out of Colgate my senior year. We spent most of our time abroad, although I did go 'domestic' after…" He stopped and got a faraway look on his face.

She reached over and touched his forearm. "Daniel? You went domestic after…what?"

"After my wife disappeared. We were in Rome on holiday and she went out to buy something, shoes I think, while I finished up some reports and took them to the CIA station chief in the embassy for coding and transmission. We were supposed to meet for dinner at this little café she loved and she never showed. It was right after we'd made first contact with the Ring."

"Did you ever…find out what happened to her?"

"Yeah. She'd been tasked to go deep cover – without me. It seems I was a liability to her mission. We'd been having trouble in our marriage and I guess it was her way of taking a timeout to get her head together. I thought we'd gotten over our problems and that things were fine. We'd even made love that morning…sorry…I really don't want to talk about it. Her death…it nearly destroyed me."

"I understand completely and I'm sorry for bringing it up. I just know so little about you and we're partners now. And you know more about me than I do about you. Just looking for a little equity in our relationship."

'Relationship, no way. Never. I won't go that route. I owe it to…his memory? I can't believe he's gone. I always felt this connection to him and I still feel it. I hope I never lose it either. It's the only warmth in my whole body now.'

"Sam, about Chuck. You did the right thing and so did he. You were compromised and he…I'm sure he's fine. Probably moved him into WitSec for his own safety not a bunker. I'd know if they'd initiated the bunker option. It was always an alternative, especially after he failed so miserably in training and then became a pest to the operation. I'm sure he'd have been eliminated if it weren't for the intersect."

She almost choked on her drink. '_He'd known about a possible bunker option and neither of us, his handlers, were aware? WitSec? Oh, Chuck, you never could have handled it without your friends and family. Oh, baby, I'm so sorry. I failed you in so many ways. Maybe it's for the better, being dead. It looks more appealing to me now that you're gone. I'm so sorry, Chuck.'_

"He tried so hard. He did everything you asked of him. He saw you as the perfect spy, even more than Larkin. I think there was a bad case of hero worship there."

"He was a loose cannon, Sam. You saw how dependent he was on you. You'd think a man his age would have had a little more backbone and stood up for himself more. It was all I could do not to laugh in his face when he pulled some of the crap he did. Such a loser. I don't see what Hannah saw in him, not at all."

"He had a lot of good qualities, Daniel, that never were allowed to come into play in the spy world." _'Present tense, Sam. Use the present tense. Shaw might not know he's…not with us any longer.'_

"Oh, yeah? Name one that didn't come from the intersect. Just one."

"He was loyal to his friends and family, and ultimately to his country. He never asked for any of this. He just did what he needed to do without any hesitation. And he was honest, Daniel, and that's something that held him back in our world. We're all liars, aren't we?"

"OK, he was loyal. But so what? He was pretty damned useless, requiring almost constant hand-holding. I was surprised he got the data stick off the plane without an outside agent coming to his rescue – oh, wait, _you_ flew the plane, enabled him to survive. It was the intersect not the man who accomplished the mission. Chuck is just a host, not even a very good one. At least in detention or WitSec he's not messing up any missions, possibly getting someone killed with his ineptitude. You were unconscious but he couldn't even flash to save his own life in my hotel room."

"Enough about Bartowski. Tell me some things about Daniel Shaw. What kind of missions did you run? Did you meet your wife after you were recruited? Does the Ring control Fulcrum or are they separate."

'I will not kill him. Not yet. Chuck was not useless. And the hand-holding…he wasn't a trained agent and yet he threw himself in harms way for his friends, us, without regard to his own safety. That alone made him special. Oh, God, don't let me cry now. Not now. I miss him so much.'

"We ran the usual networking expansions in Italy, Austria, some in France but mostly in the old Warsaw Pact countries. Why we ended it in Portugal is a big unknown. That's where we first got a hint of the Ring. Eve turned a minor embassy official that told her about how he was funneling information to an operative. When CIA interrogated him they found out he was providing agent contact information provided to him by the CIA Chief of Station."

"We brought in the Station Chief and cracked him. He'd been a Fulcrum convert and was given Ring responsibilities. Someone in DC was cleaning up behind him. Someone high up. That's who we were trying to find when Eve…went deep. We were so close, Sam, so close and then she left and all the operational knowledge went with her. The rest you know."

"So basically the guy in Portugal was providing agent listings to the Ring? Were they killing our agents or trying to turn them?"

"Some on the list we worked had definitely been killed or were missing so it was thought they'd defected. Some were obviously turned but were still working in the Agency and we weren't able to identify them. Every once in a while we'd hear about one of the missing agents being seen but it was rare. Everyone on the list was suspect. Eve was on the list. I think that's why they sent her in solo."

"Were there just CIA agents on the list, Dan, or NSA and DIA as well?"

"Mostly CIA but there were a couple of names from NSA, mostly analysts, a few DIA but they were also analysts and a couple from the DEA with intel responsibilities with the big cartels. Nothing that linked any of them, really. At least not that Langley could pick up on. Information sent to the NSA disappeared and so did a couple of the analysts. Beckman keeps a clean house, Sam. That's about the only thing I like about the bitch!"

"Beckman is a piece of work, Dan. She's ruthlessly efficient and I don't think she has a heart. She's all about the job. In all the time I was in Burbank I don't think we caught her unprepared regardless of what we turned up. Sometimes I wonder if the woman even has a soul anymore."

"None of us do, Sam, or at least not many of us. I could use a drink after all. When we get to Lisbon I know a great seafood restaurant and you can indulge your cravings for paella."

She sensed that was the end of this round of interrogation aka 'Getting to know Dan'. She mentally reviewed what she'd learned and was preparing her verbal report to Beckman. The sooner she finalized things here, the sooner she could either kill or forget one Daniel Shaw, CIA asshole.

I'll keep the knife under my pillow and maybe some morning I'll wake up and find out I killed him 'accidentally' in my sleep.


	13. Chuck Slides Down the Slippery Slope

_NoMoreNextTimes11_

__

**A/N: Getting bored yet? I am.**

* * *

**The Barrington's**  
**London, UK**

Deena was the typical tourist in London for the first time. She wanted to see the changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace, hoped to see the Princes and of course, she wanted to shop.

"Deena, we're here for a meet and greet with some counterparts at MI6. We're not on vacation. Let's see how long it takes to wrap this all up and then we'll try and squeeze in a few days of being tourists."

"Sweetie, how often do you think I'm going to get to see London? This is a one-time deal with me. We'll probably be stuck doing airport security in Kansas with my luck."

Chuck sighed and thought back over the past months. Since ending his 'training', they'd been to Italy, Switzerland, Germany, Finland, Sweden, Spain, Portugal, Luxembourg and now the UK. He knew Beckman had a plan but he had no idea what it was. After a refresher at Headquarters and a daylong series of briefings on operations in various countries they'd been sent to a series of meetings with the intelligence services of those same countries.

* * *

_Deena had been religious about sending Ellie, whom she'd never met, a postcard from each of the cities they'd visited. Chuck wrote a note on each and then finally sent Ellie a long letter telling her he'd 'met someone' on his 'virus cleanup team' and that he'd start sending pictures. He bought a digital camera and gave it to Deena as a surprise and then had to buy flash drives by the dozen as she took hundreds of pictures, most of them with the two of them together. The Rico family was not forgotten in the press of business. Deena sent tons of photos to them by email._

_It hadn't taken Morgan long to weave a tale explaining how he was traveling and also 'explaining' his new girlfriend away as a 'Sarah replacement'. Ellie was thrilled but frustrated since he never provided a return address and she had no way of contacting him. The pictures thrilled her to no end and she could see the shift from friends to lovers in the way they were together in the pics as well as the looks on their faces._

_He had a feeling, a nagging at the back of his mind, that the people they'd met, all young operatives and their superiors, were being groomed for some joint operation._

* * *

_'Chuck, all these meetings have one thing in common, newly-minted mixed partnerships, all fluent in English, and none of them are ex-military or law enforcement. There don't seem to be any points of convergence. We're stumped here.'_

_'You forgot to mention that not one of them or their supervising agents were in the intersect database. They're all newly hatched. It's like someone wants a taskforce with no history, no experience and no outside connections. That makes no sense.'_

_'So you think we're blondes, sexy blondes?'_

* * *

"Chuck, you haven't heard one thing I've said, have you? Where's your mind at, sweetie? Still looking for the thread that connects us all?"

Chuck sighed, leaned over and kissed her lightly. Since Fayetteville they'd grown closer and he knew he was headed down a slippery slope but she was so damned beautiful and so damned nice, open and honest, that some days he just didn't worry about the very sharp spikes waiting at the bottom of the slope.

"Sometimes I forget just how damned smart you are. Yeah. There's an underlying purpose to all this and I just can't figure it out. Except for the unit or operational heads, I haven't flashed on a single agent from the new teams we've met. And that bothers me."

"You'll figure it out. Just let your mind work on it in background and it'll come to you. Now let's get dressed and meet the cousins at the Yard and MI6. Who knows, you might run into someone you knew from before."

Deena was rubbernecking in the cab the entire 20-minute cab ride to MI6 headquarters. Of course, they didn't ask the cabbie to take them to MI6. They simply gave him the address they'd been given and he dropped them off in front of a large glass office building on a busy street not far from 10 Downing Street.

"Chuck, sweetie, please, if we don't do a single thing in London but one, please take me on the Eye, please?" She didn't whine or wheedle, she just asked and looked at him with those damned blue eyes of hers.

"Sure. We'll make time for it. And some shopping so you can say you've been to Harrods." She laughed that deep, bubbling, oh-so-sexy laugh and hugged him.

"Let's go get this over with. I want to buy my husband a suit. One of those tailored European suits I see the rich people wearing, and maybe a bowler hat? Might as well spend our money on something we'll get some use out of." He blushed and she giggled. God, a frictionless slope with big sharp spikes at the bottom. He was lost.

* * *

**MI6 Headquarters**

Chuck walked up to a security desk and said "Mr. and Mrs. Drake to see Jeremy Hawthorne. We have an appointment." The guard looked at Chuck and Deena and smiled at the American accent. He'd already read their bio scans and identified them from recognition software. He sent an intranet message to his superior, 'Jeremy Hawthorne', the code word for a joint operation.

"Just through that doorway, Mr. Drake. Someone will meet you and escort you to Mr. Hawthorne's office. Welcome to London." He smiled at Deena and Chuck felt a frisson of jealousy but tamped it down and again warned himself to keep it purely professional.

_'Ha! Like that's going to happen. Give up, Chuck. She's not like Walker or Carina or anyone else you've ever met. Don't be stupid. Or stubborn. Or afraid.'_

_'In the box, Deuce. We agreed. No comments on my love life.'_

_'Can't comment on something that doesn't exist.'_

_'Damn it, Deuce…'_

_'Going, going…'_

They walked to the door indicated by the guard and walked through into a small corridor where a young woman waited. "Right this way, agents. The meeting will begin shortly and there are refreshments and coffee and tea if you've a mind. Oh, and your cell phones will be inoperable once we reach our floor. Nothing in or out. The operations center is totally shielded and only MI6 communications systems can make or receive communications."

They walked to an elevator and their escort used a keycard and they got in and went down several floors and emerged onto a balcony that surrounded and overlooked a bullpen full of agents sitting at computer workstations or talking on the phone. Large LCD displays showed maps and satellite views and the whole area hummed with purpose. He heard Deena gasp and he shook his head. Sometimes she was like a little girl, so easily impressed…

"Chuck? Chuck Bart…"

He whirled around, a hand already reaching for his pistol when he saw whom it was. "Drake. Charles Drake. You have the advantage of me, sir." Cole was no idiot. He caught on very fast.

"I thought you were someone I knew from school. Sorry. I'm Cole Barker, MI6 liaison for your little group of merrymakers." His eyes danced with mirth and Chuck couldn't help but laugh.

"You know more about this than I do, Agent. Oh, this is my wife, Deena Drake, also with NSA. So you're the moderator for today's meeting?" He was fishing but he also wanted to get Cole alone to explain his situation and to remind him that he was no longer Chuck Bartowski. That Bartowski and Carmichael were both dead.

"Yes, unfortunately. I'm on convalescent leave for another month or so before I can be posted abroad. So, how are things back in L.A.? Moved upwards and onwards? Good. I always knew you had the potential although I expected you and Agent Wal…"

"Those people are dead. The asset is dead, understand? Change the subject, Cole, please." His tone conveyed a tremendous amount of information to someone as astute as Cole was.

"Sorry to hear that. I liked that young man. He was honest and forthright. Not a spy at all. Much too honest for this dirty business. I'm sure he's missed in all the right places." He could fish, too. He wanted to know what happened between Chuck and Walker.

"Yeah, he was a little too innocent for this business but things happen and people change."

"I'll speak with you later, Charles, if you have the time?" 'Alone' was unspoken but Chuck understood and nodded. "I'd like that, Cole."

Their escort had been waiting patiently but now interrupted them. "Agents, the meeting is about to start. This way, please."

"Chuck, what was that all about? Do you know him? I thought you were going for your weapon for a moment. What freaked you out so badly, Chuck? Is there a problem, sweetie?"

"Someone who knew me back before all this happened. We ran an op together. Well, I followed along being the intersect. He and my handlers did all the work. Small world, though. When we send in our report, include this in the contact section, babe."

She squeezed his hand and smiled up at him. He'd never called her 'babe' before and it seemed so natural and unconscious. Maybe she was making headway after all. God knows, she'd done everything but prance around naked trying to get his interest up. Wait, she'd done that in Fayetteville and he'd just blushed and stammered and left the bathroom.

Cole noticed the natural way they behaved with one another and believed that the two were actually married. The familiar way they spoke with one another and the small things that you had to look for, like the hand squeeze she gave him and the way he bristled when Cole had checked out her figure; she was very stunning in a black-on-black business suit with a very short skirt and those high-heeled leather boots you just to love. Yes, he'd come a very long way in the year and a half since L.A.

The meeting was divided up into sections with various people coming in to make presentations and then leaving. Apparently the entire operation was highly compartmentalized with presenters coming in one door and being escorted out another.

Chuck looked at the British team, each a man and a woman, and wondered again about the composition of the team. Four men, very average looking, uncomfortable in suits and ties but very appreciative of the attention shown them by their part…no! Handlers. These were assets and the women were their handlers! He almost laughed when it finally dawned on him. They were nerds, every one of them. Hackers! They were hackers.

Chuck looked over at Deena and wondered if she was fulfilling the same role as the pretty women who attended their 'partners'. He sighed. Of course she was. It had been a setup from the beginning. He got very angry with himself and with the NSA. He wondered if he was even a real agent or if all the 'training' had been part of an elaborate ruse. He felt himself go cold and emotionless.

Cole Barker had been very observant and knew the instant that Bar…Drake had figured it out. What he hadn't expected to see was the sudden shift in his facial expression and his body. He seemed to wilt right before his eyes and then he straightened up and Cole saw the change from observant agent to a beaten dog to a wolf, a predator. Two of the handlers had been watching Chuck and saw the change. One smiled while the other frowned and moved closer to her asset.

After the last presenter for the morning session had completed his boring analysis of various financial transactions Cole took over the meeting.

"You've all met the Drakes from the American NSA. I've worked with Charles before. You can put your trust in him. And in his wife since Charles is one of the best judges of character I've ever met. Now, this may come as a surprise to some of you but you're all part of a very hush-hush operation to bring down the financial houses of two foreign intelligence services known as Fulcrum and the Ring."

There was the usual pause for effect before he continued.

"The Drakes' responsibility will be to coordinate the simultaneous arrest or defection of the functionaries your teams will develop, identify and locate for them. They are the hunters and you four are their beaters, flushing out and driving the game out into the open so that they can 'take their shot'."

"There are several other countries involved and the Drakes are the sole enforcement arm although they may be assisted from time to time by agents from other countries, the States and, of course, Interpol. They, and they alone, will decide on arrest or elimination. Your input is incredibly valuable, gentlemen, so be sure of it. While you sit on your arses in nice cubicles these two will be out in the field on the sharp edge, facing an enemy who is cunning, dangerous and has no mercy."

The meeting broke for lunch and the four hackers eyed the Drake couple and gave them a wide berth.

"Get the feeling the mice think we're cats, sweetie?" Deena smiled up at her 'husband' and then snickered. "I think if you'd have said 'BOO!' they'd have wet themselves." Chuck just looked at her with the saddest expression she'd ever seen on his face. "Sweetie, what's wrong?"

"So, Agent Rico, are you my handler now? Is that what this was all about? Get the nerd to think he's an agent and then handle him per whatever instructions you might receive? Talked to Beckman lately?" His tone was quiet but strident, leaving her no real opportunity to answer any of the questions he'd asked.

"Chuck, what are you talking about? We're partners. You're an agent not an asset. You're a long way from Burbank! And don't you walk away from me, Chuck Bartowski!"

He swung back and fixed her with his glare. "Bartowski? That name was never in your briefing, ever. It was always Carmichael and then Drake. How else would you know that unless you'd been thoroughly briefed? Probably by that bitch Walker. Did she tell you all about me? All my immature attitudes, ineptness, weaknesses and foibles? I'll bet the two of you shared a few good laughs at my expense."

"Chuck, please…"

"I got to give you credit, Agent Rico, you're a better honey trap than Walker could ever be. I need some time alone, Agent. You owe me that, at least. I'm going for a walk. I'll be back and we can discuss your instructions from Beckman. You and Barker can have…lunch together. Maybe he'll show you some of the skills he demonstrated so ably to Walker."

He left the room and Cole rose to follow him but Deena caught his eye and motioned him to sit. She walked over and sat down beside him.

"Agent Rico, want to tell me what that was all about? Or is it really Drake?"

"No. It's Rico and probably always will be, now. He's so smart sometimes it frikkin' scary, Agent Barker. I slipped up and now I'll never regain his trust. I was told time and time again 'Do not lie to the asset'. Well, they should have told me 'Do not lie to the agent', either. I can't believe I slipped up like that. He'll never believe me. Damn the General for her lack of trust."

"So he really is an agent? Really? I'd have expected him to be with the blonde, his former handler, Walker. How did you two meet up?"

"I was his trainer for desert survival and we had issues with the opposition and he did his thing and saved my life. I asked for a partnership with him. He's incredibly gifted and talented. And scary smart. But he's still sweet and caring and kind and…"

"Yeah, all the things that make him deadly in the end. You never see it coming. He's changed, gotten older and more mature but he's still 'Chuck from Burbank' at heart. I'm surprised he made it through training. He never struck me as the 'agent type'."

Deena got defensive and Cole almost laughed. Chuck had her in the palm of his hand and didn't realize it. If she had been a handler she'd be considered compromised and replaced.

"He took out 12 infiltrators with gas and then the remaining 4 with small arms. Then he hijacked a chopper and flew through a shit storm and survived the crash. He saved my life. In Air/Sea he was ambushed by Fulcrum or the Ring on a training scenario and survived and passed. He's the only NSA agent ever to complete E&E without being captured. He's…wonderful."

"Well, here comes 'Mr. Wonderful' so you'd better make up with him. He's the lead agent in this operation. I'm surprised your superiors have kept him in the dark and even more surprised that I was the one assigned to inform you of the true nature of your assignment."

Chuck saw the two talking intensely and just shook his head and got a cup of coffee and walked out onto the balcony and watched the real agents work.

_'Talk to her, Chuck. You're making assumptions without knowing all the facts. Don't be a dumb ass. She's not Sam Walker.'_

_'Back in the box. Hell, I just had an epiphany. You're the amalgam of all those female agents, right? So you're just as bad. Just shut up, 2.0, and get back in the box.'_

_'Chuck, don't be…'_

_'I want you out of my head but since I can't do that, I want you quiet. Don't speak, don't interject, don't acknowledge my existence. Pretend all this never happened, 2.0, go back to oblivion where you belong.'_

Deena walked up beside Chuck and leaned on the balcony rail. "Penny for your thoughts, Chuck. Hell, I'd give all my money if you just tell me what's going on in that brain of yours."

"I promised you I'd never lie to you and I thought you had, too. I was wrong. Are all the women in the spy game two-faced, lying bags of crap that say and do what's necessary at the moment?"

"I never lied to you, Chuck. You are an agent. It was not a deception. You weren't told about this mission but neither was I. I know your real name because after I'd been assigned as your partner, Beckman slipped up and said 'Bartowski' instead of Carmichael and then had to explain herself. It's nothing more than that. I called you Bartowski to get your damned attention since you seemed hell-bent on walking out on me. That's it. That's everything."

He continued watching the agents work, processing her statement and mulling it over. It was…logical.

"Well, damn you, say something! If you want a new partner, call Beckman. She'll even give you back your precious Sam Walker who will continue to shit on you every time she gets close. She's poison to you. She never committed to you and she's off with that stuffed starched shirt Shaw now doing whatever it is artificial agents do with their time."

Chuck sighed and she started in again about Sam Walker and he cut her off.

"I'm sorry. I'm not as comfortable with you and this whole agent thing as you seem to be with me. I'm sorry. I'm doing the best I can but it's like running in molasses. Just when I think I know how to play the game the rules change. And I can't seem to get a grasp…"

"Have I ruined everything between us, Chuck? Beckman and Walker both warned me not to lie to you and I really didn't, Chuck, but I understand if you want a new partner."

"You really think I could get Walker back?"

She almost burst into tears. "Yeah. I think Beckman would agree to that."

"Why would I want someone who only played me, lied to me and to herself, who never fought for 'us'? And someone who kept herself so closed off for three years that I never knew the first thing about her that wasn't in the cover? No. I'll stick with the one I got now. I don't think I could do better, just worse. I'll stay if you'll have me, Deena."

"I want this, Chuck. I want it all. I want an 'us' to be more than a professional partnership. I know you have baggage with Walker but I can live with it if you just let me in, Chuck, let me in, please?"

"I'm doomed. I'll never be able to deny you a damned thing, Deena. You and those baby blues just get me all tangled up." He was blushing and stammering and she was so happy she just had to kiss him. So she did. A long and wet kiss that ended in each of them sighing and then smiling.

"I'll help you 'straighten things out' when we get back to the hotel, Chuck" she whispered in his ear and sucked on his ear lobe.

He blushed and she laughed and they realized they were going to be OK together.

* * *

_**A/N: Aw, wasn't that cute? I've thought about ending it here as well. Unfortunately, it's all down hill from here. Suck it up, Cheenas. Nik will be devastated but I warned her. Charah coming. Hold your water, Charahnites. Charah is coming with a vengeance. Literally.**_

**_APR_**


	14. Sam and Daniel and Casey and Beckman

NoMoreNextTimes13

* * *

**Lisbon, Portugal**

While Chuck and Deena were meeting with the new hacker teams in London, Daniel Shaw and Sam Walker were arguing about the menu for dinner, the proper way to approach the Ring operative they'd been assigned to turn and had finally located, whether Sarah should try to seduce him or Daniel if would try and intimidate him or offer a bribe. As usual, Daniel was being a blockhead about things.

"Sam, if you sleep with him he's certain to provide us with the information we need without resorting to bribery. You know you can twist a man every which way and no one can resist you for long. It's a lot cleaner and easier than torture and withholding the bribe is fiscally sound."

"Daniel, do ever listen to yourself talk? I mean that's the stupidest thing I've heard you say since we left the States. Maybe you should seduce him. You seem to think no one can resist you. Go ahead, give it your all for CIA, maybe you'll like being a football player."

"Football player?"

"Yeah, you can play one of two positions, tight end or wide receiver. God, Daniel, don't you have any sense of humor? Granted it's homophobic but you could at least crack a smile once in a great while."

"I'm going with the Sea Bass, what'll you have?" He wasn't going to respond to her barbs. He would weather her rants and eventually he'd be back in the saddle again, riding her for his own pleasures. Now he did smile.

"I'll have the seafood paella and white wine. And then I think I'll go for a walk. Join me?" She was making an effort to be civil. She was counting the days until her contract options expired and she could transfer to a desk somewhere in the bowels of Langley and hide and mourn in solitude.

"Yeah. I'd like that. Maybe we could find a club and go dancing for a while? You always liked that in Burbank."

"We're not in Burbank, Daniel. No, I don't want to dance. A walk and then I'm really tired and want to catch up on my sleep."

* * *

The next morning Shaw returned from the embassy in a strange mood.

"Sam, we've been ordered to report to London for a briefing on a new operation. No details yet, just that we're to make ourselves available to the Agent in Charge when he and his partner are available. Have you ever run across a 'C. Drake' in your travels?"

"Nope. What's the partner's name?"

"That's strange. Maybe it's a typo. The partner is 'D. Drake'. A married couple?"

"Yeah, that is strange. So when do we leave?"

"Monday. This Agent Drake apparently has been running around Europe and has requested time off and has been granted leave."

* * *

**The Barrington's  
****London, UK**

"Deena, move it, babe, or we're going to be late for our own briefing. You need to shower and do something with your hair. You have really advanced bedhead. You've got two hours to make yourself even more beautiful and then maybe, after this final wrap up, we can squeeze some 'US' time out of the schedule. Y'know, Harrods, the Eye, maybe see the changing of the guard at the Palace."

"Chuck, come here for just a sec."

He leaned over the bed and she attacked him. He let her have her way for about thirty seconds and then unpeeled her and stood up. "There's no time for that stuff. Move it. Now, Deena, now. Please, I really don't want the hacker squad to think we don't respect them. I picked up a case of Red Bull for them. Beats that tea they drink all to hell. Now, up, Deena."

Chuck picked her up and stood her on her feet. "Shower, then hair, then clothes, breakfast and meeting. Then 'us' time."

She put on her pouting face and mumbled "Fine. I'm moving. You weren't in such a hurry last night, sweetie." He swatted her behind and she yelped and then walked slowly into the bathroom, shaking her bottom in what she hoped was an enticing manner. She'd never had shower sex.

Chuck blushed and she giggled. He hadn't been in a hurry. He'd taken his time and greatly enjoyed making her moan, groan, whimper, gasp, giggle and laugh. He'd been in no hurry at all. And she wouldn't have had it any other way. He was so adorable when he blushed.

* * *

**MI6 Headquarters  
****Wednesday**

The Red Bull was the hit of the meeting and when they wrapped things up the hackers were bouncing off the walls and their handlers were shooting Chuck looks that promised pain if they ever got him alone. Well, three of them gave him hateful looks, the fourth, the red headed handler, just stared at him licking her lips until Deena smiled at her and asked if MI6 provided burial insurance and a plot. Then she gave Deena the same look the others gave Chuck.

Chuck thought this was all hilarious and laughed and then whispered something to Deena who turned bright red and than began to laugh herself. "OK, honey, we'll hit the shops, then the Eye and then", looking directly at the redhead who'd been eyeballing her partner, "we'll see how many times you can make me scream out your name. Last night was three. Wanna shoot for four?"

The hacker squad thought that was hysterically awesome and bounced from wall to wall showing their appreciation. Chuck just shook his head and wondered if she was ragging on them or on him. He'd lost his battle. He hadn't planned on it. It just happened. And only once, regardless of her boasts. He didn't plan on it happening again. It wasn't fair to her. He didn't love her and he didn't have plans beyond the partnership. His own feelings were…he didn't know. He liked her. She was a great partner and a wonderful person but he just couldn't see things going the way she wanted them to go. He'd learned that lesson in Burbank.

He couldn't see what others could see, though, and even if he could see it, he'd have denied it. Moving from 'like' to 'love' had been subtle and he hadn't even noticed the changes but others had, like Ellie.

"Deena, we need to touch base with the General and bring her up to speed. I think we're about ready to commence UK operations. The hacker squad has all subsidiary banks wired in and they've developed lists of Fulcrum and Ring operatives from their own files. I'll have to review them and see what's in the 'special files' that might correlate with the UK data. We'll do that after the additional team gets here on Monday. We're on holiday for the next three days. Cole's running the ship and will do the preliminaries freeing us up for a long weekend."

**Heathrow International Airport  
****London, UK  
****Sunday**

John Casey hated to fly unless he was at the controls. The flight from LAX to London had taken 14 hours and the time zone changes had made him crankier than usual. Jet lag.

As he made his way through the milling crowds waiting to pick up loved ones, he felt lonely. Someone he cared about had never met him at an airport and this arrival had been no different.

He heard his page and went to the nearest courtesy phone and answered. Someone from the US embassy was here to pick him up. Maybe his luck was changing. Casey made his way through Customs and the stood at the front of the traffic circle awaiting pickup.

Agent Deena Drake waited impatiently for Colonel Casey to see her and make the approach but apparently he couldn't see her in the crowd. Shutting off the Mini that Chuck had rented for her she approached the Colonel.

"Colonel Casey? Deena Drake. I'm here to pick you up. Chuck's waiting at the hotel. He's not too keen on spending time in the Mini when I drive. That your only bag?"

"Rico? _You're_ Agent Drake? I see you impressed the General enough to get assigned to baby sit the moron. How's that coming along? Keeping him out of trouble?" He knew he'd stepped on it when he saw her eyes narrow when he said 'moron'. Oh, yeah. Bar – Carm – DRAKE had compromised yet another agent.

"It's interesting. We've been tasked as the action team for an international operation – as you well know, Colonel. So, cut the crap about Chuck. You should be proud of him. Only NSA trainee ever to finish E&E. And he didn't get hurt, either, unless you count leeches as injuries. You know about that, so why are you pulling my chain? Want to see how badly I'm compromised? Doesn't matter. He's an agent and so am I. It doesn't get in the way so it's none of your business."

Apparently both agents had found their groove. This agent was far more self-assured than the one he'd met in the desert and talked with in the hospital at Nellis. Beckman said they'd be good together and she was right. And he found he was a little intimidated by this agent and her defense of her partner.

"I've brought some new intel and an 'eyes only' data pack for Chuck. Don't freak out when he does the download. Tell Chuck to put on these glasses and then you leave the room. It's only been done this way once before and other than a wicked headache; it's a good way to deliver updates. But I have no idea about image leaks so leave the room, Agent Drake, if you value your life."

"Leave the room? Why?"

"Brain damage. You don't want to run the risk. Chuck and Walker went undercover to smoke out a Fulcrum cell and stumbled onto an attempt to download a Fulcrum intersect into people's heads. It went sour and only Chuck could absorb the data. The rest of the trainees and the Fulcrum people were either dead from massive brain hemorrhage or gibbering, drooling idiots wallowing in their own waste. Leave the room, agent. Please, Deena. Chuck would never forgive…"

"Yes. I'll leave the room. Any other side effects I need to know about? Temporary amnesia? Impotence? Seizures? Bleeding from the nose and ears?"

"Nope. Well, yeah. He passes out and sleeps for a while. It's not your average horror story but it's close. Just leave the room. And make sure he sits on the bed before starting the download."

* * *

**Barrington's  
****London, UK**

Chuck was very happy to see Casey again. Without Casey's intervention, he'd never have gotten to be an NSA agent and even without that benefit, he considered Casey a friend.

"Hey, Colonel, what have you been up to the past 3 months? Maiming bonsais?"

"Funny, Bar – I mean Drake. So I hear you and the missus are running this op? How's it going?"

Chuck reviewed the status of the operation, told him that Cole Barker was in overall charge of the UK end of things and that two additional agents from the CIA were being reassigned from Portugal to assist in the actual field end of things. The only country they hadn't hit on the list was France and they were going Monday and would return Wednesday or Thursday. He wanted to give Deena a day in Paris.

Casey thought it was hilarious that Chuck had tuned up the UK group with Red Bull and also thought it was pretty interesting that Chuck figured out that the teams were asset/handlers. That must have made him feel…funny. Like looking at himself and Walker back in Burbank.

"Chuck, someone from back home gave me this to give to you. Read it in private, Agent. I mean that. In private." Casey was trying to protect Deena in the event Chuck went off the rails or something.

Chuck looked at the handwriting and recognized the elegant and professional script. He looked at Casey and then at the unopened envelope and handed it back. "Since you'll be at the embassy before we will, please add this to the burn bag."

Casey just nodded. No more next times. That's what he said and apparently he meant it. He didn't know whether to be proud of him or sorry for him. Rico was not Walker and Chuck was no longer the bumbling moron from Burbank. Casey wondered just where he'd fit into the team dynamic. He needed a partner. Beckman had suggested several but he wanted his last partner back and that wasn't going to happen so he opted to solo until some time in the future.

The two friends walked into the sitting room and Casey told her to give Chuck the download glasses and then they'd give him some privacy.

Deena handed Chuck the sunglasses and then kissed him on the cheek and whispered "Sweet dreams, baby," and then left the hotel room with Casey.

"How long will he sleep, Colonel?" She wanted to know if she should wait in the hall or go down to the coffee shop.

"Probably four hours. Sometimes longer depending on the size of the download. Want to catch a bite to eat? I haven't eaten since LA."

Before they ordered, Casey excused himself saying he had to make a call and 'check in' with his new boss. His new boss was actually still his old boss.

"Beckman, secure."

"Casey, secure. Are you aware that your Chief of Staff has reassigned Walker and the Stiff to Drake's operation as 'additional field assets'?"

"No, I was not! Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I'll handle it, John. How are they doing? I'm trying to let them have free rein like any other team but the Intersect Project is just too important to ignore."

"You were absolutely correct in your assignment of Rico to the team. She's…quite intimidating where her partner's well being is concerned. A very good match, General. Drake's looking very good physically, and he seems sharp as a tack and has accepted the partnership without any reservations."

"I'll have orders cut reassigning Walker and her associate to…someplace in the Far East maybe…someplace where they won't cross paths until things settle down. Thanks again for bringing this to my attention."

* * *

**_A/N: Patience Charahs. Cheenas, enjoy what little remains of the bliss of Cheena. Chuck was right. The spikes are very sharp._**


	15. Paris Marriage Talks Pregnancy Scare

**NoMoreNextTimes14**

**A/N: Trying to finish this off. **

* * *

The next morning Chuck and Deena flew to Paris almost running into Sam Walker and Daniel Shaw in the airport in London at the international terminal. Casey had driven them and deliberately dropped them as far from the international terminal as he could without it appearing deliberate. Still, the two teams missed each other by less than 10 minutes.

* * *

**Central Directorate of Interior Intelligence  
****Paris, France  
****Monday**

The meeting with the French went very smoothly. All the assets were bilingual although Deena spoke fluent French but with a hint of an American accent. That went a long way towards smoothing the way for them. Their French counterparts, a married couple who were obviously soon expecting a child, were very enthusiastic and Simone, insisted on taking Deena shopping. Her husband looked at Chuck and they both laughed.

They spent the next day touring Paris with the French couple acting as their guides. Simone and Deena spent a lot of 'girl time' together while Chuck and her husband discussed the advantages and disadvantages of being married spies. Chuck learned a lot from that.

That evening in their hotel they talked about the difficulties their French counterparts had overcome to find happiness and stability in their marriage and careers. Chuck sensed where the discussion was headed but could do nothing to change its course.

"Chuck, at Desert One you said you didn't believe in love or marriage. Looking at the Robicheaux, don't you see how wrong you were? Simone and Henri are incredible together and will make wonderful parents and provide a stable life for their children."

"Deena, they don't go international. They can be home from any corner of France in 8 hours by rail, less by air. They don't carry firearms and Henri told me they'd only been 'in action' three times in eight years but had made numerous 'assisted arrests'."

"Are you getting to your point soon, sweetie? I'd like to enjoy another night in Paris, not fight. And we have an early flight back to London."

"It's different with us, Deena. We go into the fire against people who want to do great harm. We don't normally make arrests. We're not law enforcement. It's different for us. It's harder, more dangerous, more deceptive and less black and white. We kill people. That alone is a major difference. We're not the same kind of people they are. And our survival is secondary to the greater good. That's all I'm trying to say."

"That doesn't change what we are to each other, Chuck. At least it doesn't affect me that way. I can separate the job from my feelings. I can still love, Chuck, without letting the job tarnish my feelings. I can still trust, outside the job. I trust you, Chuck, with my life and my future. I'm committed to us, as partners and as possibilities. What I do for a living doesn't interfere with that."

"Deena, let's get dressed. I want you to see the Eiffel Tower at night and then there's a small restaurant Henri told me to take you to. So put on what you shopped for and let's enjoy Paris. It's our last night of 'normal', babe."

* * *

**MI6 Headquarters  
****London, UK  
****Monday Afternoon**

Sam Walker and Daniel Shaw reported to MI6 Headquarters and were escorted to the operations area where they were told to repack their bags and catch the next flight to Sydney, Australia. Their services were required by the Australian government as part of an exchange program between agencies.

"Australia! Wonderful. Stuck out in the middle of nowhere while all the action against the Ring happens here. Sam, this sucks. I'm going to contact Beckman and demand reassignment back to this team."

"Do what you want. I think Australia sounds great. A chance to experience a new culture while teaching and learning better spy craft. I think you're wrong but go ahead and try, Daniel, if it makes you happy. I don't care where I'm assigned anymore." She was counting the days until her options expired and then she'd quit and move back to Burbank, the only place she'd ever considered home.

* * *

While Shaw went to see about contacting Langley and then Beckman, Sam walked into the assigned conference room to find Cole Barker and John Casey in a deep and loud conversation. Some might term it a 'bitter argument'. She'd walked in quietly and neither was aware of her presence in the large room with its stadium seating for about 50 people.

"Damn it, Colonel, he's proven himself. Those two have more on the ball than most agents with 5 years experience. I say 'let them go' and stand back and watch the fun."

Casey knew that Barker was not intersect cleared so he had to word his argument carefully.

"No. I forbid it. As NSA liaison, that's not going to happen. You're not hanging my agents out there like bait for the Ring just so the Queen can fatten up the Exchequer by a few hundred million pounds. He's the brains, not the brawn. Sure, he's made his bones, but that was one-on-one, in a bunker in the desert and at the bottom of a damned harbor, not in a city. He doesn't have the experience, neither of them do."

"I'll assign a team of experienced shooters to 'liaise' with the Drakes. It has to be done this way, John."

"Beckman has final say. I'll go topside and check with her. Her word is final, agreed?"

"Agreed, Colonel. I'm sure she'll agree with me, though. This has been her intent all along."

"Casey? Am I interrupting something?" She wore her old Burbank smile. It was good to see a familiar face.

Both agents turned to the source of Casey's spoken name. Neither responded other than as expected.

"Walker! What are you doing here? You have orders. Follow them!"

"Sarah! How bloody nice it is to see you. John, you have a call to make and the Drakes are in Paris finalizing the last link as we sit here arguing."

"Agent Walker, I'm telling you, follow your orders. Find that Zombie you _chose_ and follow your orders now. There will be consequences beyond your imagination if you don't!" He brushed past her and almost ran to the elevator. What a rat screw this was turning into. First Cole and now Walker.

"Cole, what was all that about? I've only seen Casey that…agitated once before. Has it 'dropped in the pot' as you Brits say?" That 'once' had been back in Burbank when she'd tried to speak with him before leaving with Shaw. He'd walked away from her then, too.

"Casey is being a mother hen towards the lead NSA field team. So, how have you been getting on, Sarah? A new partner? How did that come about? I figured you'd stay in Los Angeles with your team."

Sam Walker was getting strange vibes. First Casey practically screams at her as he tears off to contact Beckman and now Cole Barker is hesitant to speak of 'him'. She avoided his name, his image, his voice, any recollection of him in her mind. She hadn't finished grieving. Some would say she'd never started.

"Things, people, and circumstances change, you know that, Cole. Especially in our business. And people die. An occupational hazard."

"Well, your young man has certainly changed. I wouldn't have recognized him. You've done well by him, Sarah."

"I had nothing to do with it. Shaw came 'ready made'. And he's quite a bit older than I."

"Shaw? Who the bloody hell is Shaw? I was talking about your young asset, Chuck, whose "Burbank surname" must never be spoken. He goes by Drake now. He and his missus…"

She suddenly couldn't breathe. Her peripheral vision was graying out and she could hear her own heart pounding painfully in her chest and the blood rushing through her veins. Cole's muffled voice came from far away as the pain in her chest radiated throughout her body. "Sarah? Sarah? Sarah, do you need a doctor?"

Twenty minutes later and 2 floors up, a nurse was asking Sam Walker if she was pregnant.

"What? Absolutely not! Why would you ask such a thing?" Sarah had the CIA implant and it wasn't due for a booster for another 2 months.

"All your symptoms…"

"I just learned that a dear colleague who I'd been told was dead is very much alive. We were close. I thought I'd lost him forever but he's alive and there's still hope. I mean…"

"Agent, have a pregnancy test run. You vitals are all skewed. We've taken a blood sample but don't run that test here. Your reaction was not unlike a panic attack but you did lose consciousness if only for a brief period. The results will relieve some doubt in your mind."

'_Pregnant? Oh, shit! I can't be pregnant. Oh, shit! It's Shaw's baby. I've been pollinated and am giving birth to a Shaw seedling. Oh my God, it's not possible, is it? It's got to be the shock of knowing Chuck's still alive. Beckman lied to me? Why? I need to talk to Casey about that. He used a condom. They always used a condom. No exceptions. Wait! What about that last time in my hotel suite? Oh, shit, I don't remember.'_

She walked out of the dispensary area and got an escort back down to the operations floor. Shaw was pacing the floor like an expectant father (_that's so GROSS! SHUT UP!)_ and was relieved to see her.

"Sam, you're OK? What happened? Agent Barker told me you'd passed out. What did the doctor say? Are you ill?"

"Must have been something I ate. It's nothing, Daniel. Clean bill of health. Have you seen Colonel Casey?"

"He's in a foul mood. He and Barker are in the trenches over some decision Beckman's made. Oh, we're staying in London. CIA has appointed me, well, us, as liaison to the operation. We don't have to go to Australia, Sam; we can stay here in London as our base. Barker says this Drake is in France but will be back on Wednesday or Thursday after consulting with the French network."

"But Daniel, Beckman's given us orders to Australia…"

"Tough shit. We're CIA and it's not the intersect project so we're CIA agents, not NSA drones. We follow Langley's guidelines."

"I need to speak with the colonel alone, Daniel. It's important. And then I need to go to a drugstore, an apothecary I think they call them here, or a Chemist shop. It personal. A prescription for low iron or something they gave me at the dispensary."

'_You mean a high concentration of cellulose, don't you? Maybe you could squirt some Roundup…' _

'_Will you please shut up! Where were you, dear conscience, when I made the colossal error and screwed up my life with Chuck? Where were you then? So just shut the fuck up already!'_

* * *

Casey hated losing and he hated losing most of all to the CIA or MI6. Beckman had gone along with Barker on this one. And to make things worse, the two CIA agents, one of whom was under suspicion of possibly being Fulcrum or Ring and the other one just plain stupid, were to be CIA 'liaisons' to the Drake facet of the operation. Boy, was Beckman pissed about that. And now he knew he'd have to face Walker and answer questions he didn't want to answer and probably wouldn't be able to anyhow.

"Agent Walker, you and Shaw are the designated CIA liaisons for Operation Ransack. Do not get between the Drakes and their objectives, understand? You're not here to do anything more than liaise. Make sure the Stump knows that. I will not tolerate anyone fucking with Chuck, do I make myself clear, Agent Walker?" He stared her right in the eye, knowing full well she'd do what she damned pleased.

"Casey, please. A moment in private, John, please? Considering how that Bitch fucked up my life the past 3 months you owe it to me."

"Walker, I don't owe you shit. You chose, selected, picked, whatever you want to call it, and now you're stuck with him. You made a mistake, Walker, and it's too late to roll back the clock. You made your bed, lie in it." Casey was being deliberately cruel. He owed it to Chuck to make this heartbreaker feel as bad as his young friend had.

"Fine, I made a mistake and I'm paying for it but why did Beckman tell me Chuck was dead, killed in training in the Air/Sea phase? That was a lie and just plain cruel. I've died a little every day since then. I've cried more tears than ever before and now I find out he's alive? Why, John? Why is she so cruel?"

"I didn't know he'd been declared dead so you're ahead of me. Maybe your treatment of him in Burbank? Y'know Beckman took him back into training instantly, without hesitation. He can flash at will now and does so with amazingly deep results. And it's all thanks to Morgan. How's about that?"

She'd deal with the Morgan issue later. Right now she wanted to know why she'd been lied to and why she'd been forced to accept a partnership based on that lie.

"Casey, I've built a dossier on Shaw and there's nothing there. His wife is dead. Legally. They never recovered a body. It's a dead end. Now I want my place on the team back, that was the deal."

"Won't do you much good to demand things from me. I'm not part of this; I'm just an observer. You never should have jacked him around in Burbank, Sarah. You should have come clean and hoped for the best. You could have been 'Mrs. Drake' and been happy but you didn't and now you're stuck with Agent Cardboard."

"But Casey, I told Beckman I loved Chuck and wanted back on the team. She told me get the goods on Shaw and she'd think about it. I have the goods, they're just not the 'goods' that she wanted."

"Stay away from Chuck. Keep it professional. He's…he's different, Walker. He's not the same. He's older, tougher and more professional than you've ever seen him. You chose your path, Walker, when you slept with Shaw but mostly when you told Shaw your name. You threw three years in Chuck's face, Walker, three years for who? Superduperdude? The man who destroyed Team Bartowski in 3 weeks? Keep it professional or I'll have you recalled. Beckman will do it for me in a heartbeat."

"Can I at least talk to him? Try to explain things? You owe me that, Casey, for three years of partnership loyalty."

"Drake's in charge. It's his call. Keep it professional and keep your wooden toy away from Deena. She'll kill him if he treats Drake with less than the maximum professional courtesy. They're in Paris and will be back Wednesday or Thursday. She's never been there and he wants her to have the day for herself. Think Shaw would ever think of something like that for you unless you were doing something for him?"

"Colonel Casey, for the last time, it's over between Shaw and I. The morning of the meeting I told him we were through and I was going to talk to Chuck about us but he was gone and I was sent away. He's not my toy. And I know what Rico said about Chuck 'cause I debriefed her after the Ark incident, so yeah, she's doing 'something' for him. Unless he's suddenly turned gay."

* * *

It wouldn't matter in the long run. The Drakes didn't return to London.

Operation Ransack went off without a hitch and looted the known bank accounts of both Fulcrum and the Ring throughout Europe. It was a great success and credit went to the NSA team. Chuck had given the 'go' sign from a secure but unknown location. Strangely, neither Casey or Barker were at MI6 Headquarters and the whole operation had been rather anti-climactic.

The European Fulcrum and Ring agents and contacts were all arrested or detained by the operational arms of the various governments involved. The NSA began to pursue a more active role in conjunction with coalition governments as a result. Team Shaw was released back to the CIA for reassignment. Needless to say, Daniel Shaw attempted to take credit for the NSA team's operational successes but was ignored for the most part.

* * *

_**A/N: Is Walker germinating a little sapling? What's up with 'released' back to the CIA? Will Team Shaw continue on or will Nature intervene? And what's with this 'secure but unknown location' crap? Has Beckman finally put him in a bunker? WitSec? Hell if I know. APR**_


	16. No One Lives Forever

NoMoreNextTimes15

A/N: Going to finish this and the others and then that's it. Enjoy. Sorry, Nik. This is a flashback of sorts. It's the only way I could weave the separate stories into one. Read carefully and please don't send me flames.

* * *

Sam Walker strolled through the terminal in Miami's International Concourse watching people. She was on a 45-day convalescent leave after her operation and a 2-week hospital stay. She was going to be Deputy Chief of Station in Jamaica and was taking her leave there. She was finally rid of Daniel Shaw. She heard he was on leave and prayed she wouldn't run across him. Their parting had been perfunctory at best.

After Operation Ransack had ended on a successful note, she'd returned to CIA headquarters for reassignment. Her pregnancy scare had prompted her to request her annual physical a few months early. The fibrous tumor had been benign and she viewed the entire affair as a warning and a joke played on her by Fate.

Operation Ransack had devastated the European wing of the Ring. She and Daniel had witnessed the operation first-hand from the MI6 operations room. The coordination had been perfect although she thought it strange that the primary movers and shakers were absent. She'd missed her chance to see Chuck.

Her musings were interrupted by a familiar voice. "Hello, Agent Walker, imagine running into you here."

"Colonel Casey, this is a surprise." Sarah was actually pleased to run into Casey. She wanted to know about Chuck.

Casey had been waiting for her. She had new orders and he didn't give a shit if she objected to them or not.

He motioned to the seat beside him and waited until she was situated and then handed her a cup of coffee, just like old times.

"Sam, you have new orders. I'm sorry about the Deputy Chief's position in Jamaica but I'm sure something similar will open up for you if you handle this tasking well. In fact, I can say with 100% certainty that the post in Jamaica will be held open for you indefinitely."

"You've got my attention, Casey. The coffee was a nice touch, by the way. Just like Burbank. So, what are my new orders? Please don't ask me to work with Shaw again. I'll resign first."

"I need to bring you up to speed on some events first that aren't known to the general intelligence community. I trust you, Sam, but only so far, so some things won't seem 'connected' because I'm leaving some things out, understand?"

She bristled, almost throwing her cup of coffee in his face. "Damn you, I've done nothing to deserve that comment, Casey. I've done everything I've been tasked with. And I've been lied to by the NSA Director herself, so maybe it's _you_ who are out of trust here, ever think about that?"

Casey scrubbed his face with his hands. He _had_ thought about that. He and Beckman had had a few 'less than harmonious' discussions about how the entire 'Carmichael is dead' thing had been handled.

"Fine, but there are a few things I can't tell you because either I don't know about them or I've been specifically ordered to forget them. First off, Team Drake is dead. Rico is dead and Chuck's…that's one of the things I don't know about. He's alive but that's all I can say with any degree of certainty."

Sam gasped and almost spilled her coffee. "How, Casey? When? She's dead? Oh, my God, Chuck must be devastated. You know how he bonds, trusts and feels responsible for his handlers. And Rico had strong feelings for him so he must have felt something in return. How is he?"

"Yeah, he had 'feelings' just not the kind he had for you. But I don't know how he is. That's one of the things I don't know. But he's alive and raising all kinds of Hell." Casey thought back 3 weeks to the day of Operation Ransack – the day it all went to hell.

* * *

**Heathrow Airport  
London, UK  
Thursday - Operation Ransack minus 6 hours**

They cleared Customs using their diplomatic passports and that assured them of a hassle-free nod toward their luggage. Their Mini was parked in short-term and as always, Deena wanted to drive. The decision was put on short-term hold by her shrilling cell phone. "Deena, I _will _reprogram that tornado warning you call a ring tone. Answer it before I go deaf, please?"

"Drake, secure."

"Yes, sir, I understand. Code Yellow on MI6 HQ, meet at Dunson House outside London. Yes, sir, everything's taken care of and Chuck will brief the General when we arrive. Thank you, sir."

"Well, sweetie, Beckman's in town and the MI6 HQ has been possibly compromised so the entire operation has been relocated to an old RAF landing field that's the alternate MI6 base for this op. The General's at Dunson House and that's right near the airfield. That was the General's Chief of Staff at FT Meade. The General is waiting to be briefed and wants to witness the takedown. He's emailing me the GPS coordinates and a route so sit tight."

"Beckman's here? In England? Oh, joy. She has a way of moving things around to suit her. Wouldn't surprise me if she just didn't want to hassle with the London traffic." He noted the time difference. It was 1am in Baltimore.

"OK, here's the email, and here's the GPS and routing information. I'm forwarding it to your phone and you can do your wizardry while I drive. And cool it with the panic look, Chuck. Honestly, I've taken the driving course. Passed it the 2nd time with no problems." She winked and blew him a kiss and then laughed with delight as he turned bright red. Oh, she was so gone on him.

* * *

**NSA Headquarters  
****FT Meade, MD**

She closed out the voice synthesizer program and then keyed the email as she'd been instructed. She put the script of the conversation and the draft of the email through the shredder.

In addition to being $5,000 richer, her boyfriend had promised her a weekend at the Shore. She felt the familiar stirrings in her loins when she thought about being alone with him. Even though he was 20 years her senior, he still had incredible stamina and an almost perverted repertoire of sex toys and games.

It was almost 2am before the General's meeting with her Chief of Staff was over. Things were heating up across the Atlantic and there was a lot to accomplish especially with the time differences. He smiled at her when he left the General's office.

He looked at her with raised eyebrows and she nodded then smiled. "Tasks accomplished as ordered, Colonel. Now, what say we catch an early breakfast and you can spend the night at my apartment?"

* * *

**Southern England**

Their route took them south about 80km then east toward the coast. They left the British version of an interstate and continued on over secondary roads. Both were enjoying the scenery and very little was said until Chuck's phone chirped.

"See, isn't that preferable to that 'end of the world' shrilling you have, Deena?"

"Bite me."

"Maybe later, we'll see. Drake, secure." From his half of the conversation and the sudden look of concern on his face, Deena figured the shit had hit the fan.

"Casey, we're driving in to the alternate site. Traffic was heavy but we've made up time thanks to Deena's driving." She grinned at his comment, taking it as a left-handed compliment.

"She got a call from Schaeffer, Beckman's Chief of Staff, giving us a head's up on the General's visit and the relocation to Dunson House and the nearby RAF airfield. We're about 20 minutes out according to GPS."

"Pistols only, Colonel. Can't take a subgun on an airliner, y'know?"

"Under the back seat? Cool. Tell Cole I owe him one. No, don't. This makes us even for Walker in the Castle. We're turning around in a minute. This road is a one-laner and there're stone fences on either side."

"Deena says it was Schaeffer, Casey, she's met him. It was him. I don't care about that, Deena knows his voice and the email was from the General's server."

"Fine, fine. Have it your way. Send the cavalry and we'll hole up at the first place that looks promising although there's nothing around here but fields. Haven't run across a village and Dunson House is only 15km from where we are now."

He hung up the phone. "Stop the car, babe. I need to get something out from under the back seat. Two somethings, actually." He got out and opened the back door and pulled their suitcases out and then lifted up the back seat. There were 2 G36K submachine guns used by the SBS and SAS and also elite response teams of the English police. Additional magazines were in slings. He pulled everything out, stowed the luggage back in and got back in the car.

"Deena, it's all bad news. It's a trap and we're out of position for any close support. Let's find a place to laager up and wait on Barker and Casey to rally some help our way. I gave them our GPS coordinates. Now all we have to do is hang on until the cavalry gets here."

* * *

The 'cavalry' arrived by helicopter 40 minutes later, guided by the GPS coordinates Deena had updated and by the 5 columns of smoke rising over the plain from the burning vehicles.

Casey and Barker jumped from the lead assault chopper before the skids even touched down. Both could see the 'laager position' among the rocks and the clumps of bodies surrounding it. Cole Barker was first to reach it.

"Oh, bloody hell, Casey, they've both bought it." Chuck was shielding Deena's body behind his own, one hand on her thigh trying to stop a bloody wound and the other holding an empty 9mm pistol. There were empty magazines for the G36Ks and their Beretta pistols littering the ground.

When Cole tried to get to Rico's body Chuck raised the empty pistol and tried to fire it. "Hold on, Chuck, it's Cole. I'm just taking her to the medics. Let her go, Chuck, she needs help!" She was beyond help but Chuck didn't need to know that right then. He needed a medic, too. Both his suit pants legs were blood soaked.

"Help her, Cole. She got dinged in the thigh. I couldn't stop the bleeding and keep them off us at the same time. She fought like a tigress. You should have seen her, firing that G36 one handed and hanging on to me with the other. She was magnificent, Cole. I'm so lucky to have her…" The medic bent over Deena and shook his head.

"Chuck, let's get you up and let the medics take a look. She's with the medics. C'mon, lad, you ran a regular Rourke's Drift here. They're still counting the bad guys."

"This one's still alive, Colonel! But he's bad off." The SAS medic was standing over one of the attackers, waiting for orders. Chuck pulled himself up with Cole's help and staggered over to the wounded man. He pulled a small knife from his sleeve and started cutting.

"Who sent you? Who ordered this? Was he an American? Answer me or you'll lose the other fucking ear!"

Cole tried to stop him but Casey put a hand on him to stop him. "She's dead. He knows that. This was the third attempt to get him. Other two were stateside. Let him find out what he can. My responsibility and my authority, Cole. He needs to know."

Chuck put his ear to the dying man's mouth to hear what he said and then straightened up and cut his throat with a vicious slash of his knife…the same knife he'd carried since Marathon.

He stood up slowly, turned and stepped towards his friends and then went down, unconscious. Their attackers had been under orders not to kill him and he'd shielded Deena with his body until a lucky shot hit her in the thigh, severing her femoral artery. His physical wounds were minor but cumulative. His wounded mind was another thing entirely.

* * *

**Miami International Airport  
****International Concourse**

Sam Walker was trying not to cry. Deena dead and her Chuck…

"Then what happened, Casey? Don't drag this out, please. It's cruel to keep me hoping for a miracle. How is he? You said his mind…"

"He held her body the entire flight back to the SAS base and then only let her go when some nurses told him they needed to clean her up and make her presentable for her family. They turned her over to a local approved mortuary and two days later Chuck flew back here, to Miami, and brought his partner home."

"Casey, what about Chuck? Please, I need to know about him."

"Beckman wanted him in protective custody but he demanded that they hold off until after the funeral. I was there in Miami and I mean to tell you, Sam, that…"

"Sarah, I hate Sam. I'm Sarah Walker, Colonel. It's who I want and need to be."

He smiled at her and continued. "He told Beckman he'd follow Deena if she didn't back off and let him take care of the funeral. She caved. She needs him alive and healthy, not dead or in a bunker. She was concerned he'd lost it but put those thoughts aside after…I can't tell you that. Sorry. Just know that Chuck's as sane as he was in Burbank. He's just a heartless and soulless agent. Perfect in Beckman's eyes. Hell, he even scared the crap out of your old boytoy Barker who accompanied him back. Told him he'd take his ears if he dared think about touching you again."

Sarah was both shocked and pleased. Shocked that he threatened an ally and that Cole had been intimidated and pleased that he was jealous of Cole Barker. He didn't have reason to be any longer. He'd been a distraction, nothing more. Even less than Daniel Shaw had been.

"So where is Chuck now, Casey? And what is my mission?"

"We don't exactly know where he is, Sarah. Let me finish, please. Don't worry about your flight. You're coming back to FT Meade with me. Beckman wants to talk to you. I wouldn't be surprised if she fills in all the blanks as a way of apologizing for the whole 'he's dead' thing. One thing: neither Chuck or Deena knew a thing about that. You know Chuck. He'd have found a way to save you any grief, although I don't think he thought you cared any more. Still, you know Chuck…"

She did and she was ashamed that she thought he'd known but didn't care. She should have known better. He was always concerned for her 'feelings'. She just hadn't been concerned very damned much for his.

"Finish your coffee, Sarah, and let's go. Time's short and I want to have all this finished before you go in and speak with the General. You'll have questions I won't be able to answer and I want those answers, too. He's my friend, Sarah, the only one I have who'd answer my call anytime I needed help. I want him back here where he belongs, with us, on a team, not running around killing Ring and Fulcrum agents and leaving a mess to be cleaned up."

They stood and began walking to the security exit when Sarah noticed Casey's cane. "John, what's with the cane? Were you injured?"

"Keep walking. No big deal. I'll get to it. Hold your horses, Walker."

* * *

_**A/N: So Chuck's running around killing the opposition and Casey wants him back on 'the' team. And what's with the cane? I don't know yet. I want this maggot opus done with. APR**_


	17. Ashes to Ashes Sarah Returns

******__**

NoMoreNextTimes16

**_A/N: Getting there. Going fishing. See ya next week._**

* * *

**Aboard NSA Gulf Stream2**

"OK, so you left us in Miami, at her funeral. Go on, John." They were seated and the jet was taxiing to the runway.

"I went back to Miami with him. He flew in the cargo hold, sitting next to her coffin, his pistol in his lap. I think he was close to killing himself, Sarah. The only thing I could get him to talk about was Deena. It was 'Deena this' and 'Deena that' and 'my tigress, shooting bad guys and keeping him safe'. That last part was a lie. He kept her safe by shielding her with his body. They wanted him alive. That's why he only had superficial wounds. Killing Deena was an accident, really. I think they wanted her alive to use against him. But the Ring was desperate and they finally resorted to grenades."

"He would have cracked, Casey. You know that."

"No, he wouldn't have. He's different, I tell you. Before she was killed, he would have held out, regardless of what was done. He'd have hated himself but he would have done it…because he didn't really love her and he'd have made himself understand that somehow or killed himself rather than crack."

Sarah shook her head and bit her lip, hard, to keep from crying. She'd done this to him. She made him decide to be an agent. He should have stayed 'Chuck from Burbank' and to hell with the greater good.

"Sarah, 2.0 changed him. He became what he'd always wanted to be but before he blabbed it all to Morgan he was too conflicted to let it have its way. Like I told you, he's different."

"I accept that, Casey, but what happened in Florida that made Beckman hesitate. What did he do?"

**Miami International Airport  
****Customs**

"Casey, there's Deena's dad. Let me handle this, John. He's not going to want to listen to anything and it's going to get ugly. No matter what he does, John, do not interfere, OK? I can handle it. It's my responsibility. I lost her. I lost his little girl and I broke my promise to keep her safe."

Chuck walked up to Tony Rico who'd been crying and smelled like he'd been drinking. "So, you got my little girl killed, Drake. And look at you, not a scratch on you. What did you do, hide behind her?"

"Tony, I'm sorry. We fought together, my tigress and I. You should have seen her! You'd have been so proud of her. I am. And…and I miss her, Tony. I miss her so damned much."

Casey started forward when he saw Deena's father suddenly grab him but he stopped when he realized that it was to stop Chuck from collapsing in anguish. He motioned for Barker to stay back and he walked over to the grieving pair.

"Sergeant Major, I'm Colonel John Casey. Agents Rico and Drake worked for me. Cole Barker will take care of Chuck. He needs a shot. Let me tell you a story, Sergeant Major, about Rourke's Drift 2. That's what the SAS nicknamed it. I don't know about Rourke's Drift #1 but it must have made an impression on the Limeys."

He motioned for Barker to get Chuck and then he and Deena's father walked back toward the Starlifter that had lowered its ramp and where crewmen were discharging the coffin to the mortuary vehicle.

Cole led Chuck over to one of the NSA vehicles that had been sent to escort the body and the agents to the funeral home and then on to their hotel.

"Chuck, you OK? The legs bothering you? I got a shot here that will put you out for a while. You need to sleep, lad. And heal. And you won't do either well until we get you down in a bed somewhere. Lie back in the seat and I'll go fetch Casey and Rico's father and we'll get this done."

Cole walked over to where the two older men were standing and talking quietly, eyes following the aluminum coffin as it was taken to the mortuary.

"Colonel, he's about done in. The legs are probably bleeding and he hasn't slept since…since Paris, probably. We need to get him to the hotel and to bed then shoot him up with Demerol whether he objects or not."

"No! No hotel. Drake comes home with us. Family is what he needs and family is what he'll have. I'm retired NSA, he'll be secure with us. Trust me, gentlemen, he needs family right now."

Barker looked at Casey with the obvious question. Tony Rico took out his cell phone and dialed a number and asked to speak with 'Diane Beckman'.

"This is General Beckman's office. Who's calling, please?" Her assistant screened all her calls.

"Tell Diane it's Tony Rico. I need her to tell a light bird colonel and some Limey nurse-maiding Drake to let him come home with me instead of a hotel, at least until after the funeral."

"One moment."

"Tony, I'm so sorry for your loss. Please hand Colonel Casey the phone. I trust you still have all your equipment?"

"Yeah, General. No problem. Here, Colonel, she wants to speak with you."

"Colonel Casey, anything he wants within reason. Stay with him though. Cole, too. It might prove educational. How is Drake?"

"Dead on his feet, ready to kill the next person who tries to mother him. Probably needs those dressings changed but he sat with Rico's coffin the whole flight back with a pistol in his lap and I figured I'd just watch him. He'll be OK, I hope."

"Good. I'm thinking he needs to be in very tight security. Not a bunker but certainly not living out on his own alone. I'm looking for a staffed safe house located outside of the US. Can't trust anything anymore. He's as 'popular' as that asshole Shaw. Call me if you need anything at all. I'll flag the Rico residence for additional security. Thank you, Casey. And tell Chuck congratulations on Ransack. It went down beautifully."

Casey grimaced at the General's final remark. Chuck couldn't care less about Ransack. Casey gave Tony Rico back his cell and grinned.

"You got room for the three of us?"

* * *

**Rico Residence  
Miami, FL**

Casey, Barker and the SMAJ as they'd come to address him, were all drunk on their asses. Rico's wife, Janie, knew better than to say anything. This was how military people mourned the loss of one of their own. She and her daughters mourned in the Irish/Mexican manner, paying homage to their heritage in prayers. Chuck was in a drug-induced haze, trying to make sense of the noise and doing a piss-poor job of it.

"Deena? Deena? Are you awake, babe?" He stopped speaking so suddenly that he heard his jaw snap shut. She wasn't awake. She was dead. He'd failed and his partner died. He sat up on the side of the bed and held on as his world seemed to turn on its ear. A few seconds of dizziness and he was fine. He just needed to find his pistol and everything would be OK.

A woman's voice from the doorway stopped his search. "Agent Drake, I heard you. I'm sorry. My sister's dead. I know you're hurting, we all are. I know you loved her so don't even try to deny it. I'm sorry you lost her. I've taken your pistol. That's not the answer. She would hate you forever if you harmed yourself. Go back to sleep. I'll sit with you for a while."

He laid back down, pulled the sheet over him and closed his eyes. He remembered their last few moments together and he lost it. Soft hands cradled him and rocked him until he cried himself to sleep. She wondered if her husband would be this affected by her passing. She thought about it and decided she really didn't want to know the answer.

She closed the door and walked downstairs to the kitchen and took out a water glass and pulled the whiskey bottle from her dad's grasp and filled it up and then made a toast. "To Chuck and Deena, may they each find peace."

She drank the entire glass and then went back upstairs to lie beside a man she didn't know so that he could sleep thinking he did.

* * *

The funeral was the following morning. It was very well attended. Many of Deena's friends came and a large contingent of the SMAJ's friends and former soldiers came as a sign of respect. Casey thought it was his imagination at first playing tricks on him but he finally figured it out. The 'friends' were all former special forces or NSA agents from Tony's past. They'd formed a loose cordon around the family and it was easy to see all were armed if you knew what to look for.

That night as the active and retired agents got quietly drunk, Chuck slipped out the back door and went for a walk. He'd found his pistol where Deena's sister had left it. He didn't know which of her sisters had crawled in beside him during the night and held him while he cried and kissed him and whispered that everything would be all right. He didn't want to know who it was, either. He'd finally slept until Casey had come to wake him. He'd been alone in his bed but the sheets were still warm.

He was walking up the street after completing a circuit of the block trying to clear his thoughts and figure out what to do next when he heard the buzz and saw flashes of silenced automatic weapons coming from two vans stopped in the road in front of the Rico's. He ran across the street and then ran up beside the vehicle and jerked open the door and fired into the van's interior. He finished with the first van and moved on to the second. They'd been alerted and had pinned him down behind the van he'd already cleaned out and he was down to 4 rounds, no more.

He took two silenced automatic weapons and a bag of spare magazines out of the van and climbed up on the roof. Sporadic pistol fire from the house drew the full attention of the attackers and Chuck ran across the top of the empty van and started shooting at anything that moved. The van drove away leaving two men without cover. They threw down their weapons and raised their hands.

Chuck jumped down from the van roof and shot the first attacker in the knee and motioned the other to get down on his knees. He had their attention. He took out his knife and got to work.

Tony Rico and Casey came up behind the van and saw Chuck 'questioning' the shooters. Tony walked up and stood beside Chuck, nodding and asking the occasional question himself. Casey called for a cleaner team and thought seriously about tranking Chuck and having him hospitalized. He was out of control and dangerous to himself and others. It was obvious that his grief had driven him totally insane. The way he wielded that damned blade of his bothered Casey. It wasn't anything the old Chuck would do, ever.

He said so to Tony Rico who looked at him and laughed bitterly. "Colonel, he's getting intel right now that your best interrogators wouldn't get for days. He's focused and he's using this as therapy. Don't knock it, Colonel. It worked for me, it'll work for him. We do the messy things, people like Chuck and me. I think you might have in the past, but you're too soft now, Colonel. Find a nice office job and then retire. You're not cut out for this work anymore, son."

Chuck wiped his knife on the shirt of one of the sobbing shooters and then turned to Casey. "Get hold of Beckman. We need to leave here. We're putting these people in danger. Once again, it's me they want, dead or alive now. I've got their contact information. A DC phone number. I don't recognize the number but it's probably a prepaid cell phone used once and then trashed."

"Call it, Chuck. Maybe you'll get lucky."

He did. The phone was answered by a voice he recognized. Chuck pinched his throat with his fingers and told the man that the 'item had been repaired and was awaiting pickup' and awaited instructions just as the one attacker had told him to say. "Sorry, it's damaged. I've replaced it. Throw it away. Someplace it won't be found. Your payment is on its way to your bank."

"Casey, we need to get to DC. The voice…is Beckman's Chief of Staff, Colonel Schaeffer. He set us up in England. He said to 'throw it away someplace it couldn't be found'. We need to take him out."

"Chuck, Beckman will never believe you. She's known Schaeffer for almost 30 years. They've served together in NSA for a long time. She's already grooming him to take her place when she retires."

Rico interrupted them with news. "Some friends of mine took out the van that got away. No survivors. We need a cleanup and 'structural repair' crew out here. Good thing I had brick veneer." He laughed and slapped Casey on the shoulder. "Where's all the additional security Beckman laid on, Colonel Casey? Someone's asleep at the switch in DC."

Cole Barker walked up and told them that there were no injuries to any of the family. Chuck shuddered and walked back toward the house. If Beckman believed her Chief of Staff instead of them, then it was over. They'd lost the war even though they'd won the only real battle with Operation Ransack.

He motioned Cole to follow him and they walked around behind the Rico house. "Cole, I'm going off the grid for a few days. I have some personal stuff to handle. Tell Casey I'll check in from time to time but I'm not running, just tying up a few loose ends is all."

"Chuck, now might not be the best time to be wandering around alone." He was concerned that someone, namely the NSA mole, might consider this the perfect opportunity to take care of unsettled business.

"I can't finish this if I don't close things out. Casey was right all along. So was Walker. Emotions, feelings, caring, all dangerous in this business. See how things ended up here? I need closure, Cole. And then I'll be back and finish this. Tell Casey not to be too pissed. I'll handle Beckman when the time comes."

"When? When are you leaving?" He and Casey could talk him out of it, given enough time. It was grief talking. Nothing more.

"First flight out in the morning. I'll see you then. I'm going to bed. My legs are killing me and I'm dead tired."

Cole went to talk with Casey and Chuck went to the rear of the Rico property to a van waiting to take him to the airport. One of Tony's friends had already taken care of his bags and would take him to the airport.

* * *

**Aboard NSA Gulf Stream2**

Sarah Walker was shocked and angry with her former partner. "You lost him? You lost Chuck and now you want me to find him, right? Damn it, Casey, tell me it's not a sanction. I won't do it, John. You and the General can both go to hell. I won't kill the man I love and I won't be a party to anything that hurts him."

"It's not a sanction. I give you my word on it. It's a rescue mission, more than anything else. Now be quiet and let me finish." He smiled at her.

"What? What's with the smile, Casey. It looks so…unnatural on you."

"You're still wearing his bracelet. He'll need to see that, Sarah. It might be the key to opening a lot of locks."

**Rico Residence  
Miami, FL**

John Casey and Tony Rico were going over the events of the evening, listening to the NSA cleanup crew catching hell from Tony's wife and oldest daughter about the mess they were making instead of cleaning up.

His daughter walked into the kitchen, took the beer from her father and finished it. "I don't know how he can possibly get any sleep with all this noise and confusion, Daddy, so I gave him the Demerol. He was dead on his feet and I know he was hurting. So, keep it down and let him sleep. There'll be time enough for dealing with reality in the morning."

Cole and Casey prepared their arguments for the coming battle with Chuck. Both had serious reservations. Casey honestly believed that Chuck had been 'unhinged' by the murder of Deena Rico and that he needed intensive therapy and treatment. Cole thought that it was more like a suicide tidying up affairs prior to taking his own life. It still boiled down to some sort of psychiatric treatment in a controlled environment. They could both agree on that.

* * *

**Miami International Airport  
Miami, FL**

Chuck boarded the plane carrying his weapon. His magic NSA ID card cleared him through security. Tony's friends had driven Chuck to the airport and then gone their separate ways leaving no clues for the two agents to follow. The oldest daughter was a co-conspirator and had been the one to announce she'd shot him up with Demerol. Deena had loved him and that was good enough for her.

**_A/N: Maudlin? Not yet. Walker is close to being redeemed. Only a few things remain to sort out and then…it'll be over. Charah with a vengeance doesn't necessarily mean getting even…lol_**

**_APR_**


	18. Chuck Goes Home

NoMoeNextTimes17

* * *

_A/N: Took my lady fishing but ship channel dredge fouled water. Nik managed to sit right next to a clutch of baby gator hatchlings. The Lord wasn't the only one who could walk on water. She RAN across. Enjoy. Maybe we'll go down to Bay St. Louis tomorrow. Next post will be Friday later or Saturday. Got an 'event planner' meeting with Nik's MOH. I am so underwhelmed. Gonna wrap this one up. Getting beaucoup bored._

* * *

**LAX  
Los Angeles**

Morgan picked Chuck up at the airport, shocked at how much his life-long friend had changed. He started asking a million questions but Chuck just asked him to wait so he'd only have to tell it all once.

**Casa Woodcomb  
****Burbank, CA**

Everything had changed and yet everything seemed to stay the same. Ellie and Devon and Morgan were constants in his life. It took him 4 hours to tell his tale, interrupted by moments of EllieJoy but then by a quiet crying as he told her about Sarah/Sam and Deena. There were tears of anger and then tears of grief for someone she'd never met but who had captured her little brother's heart – even if he refused to admit it.

Ellie had refused to believe him at first until both Devon and Morgan confirmed his secret life and then she got mad. That lasted about 10 minutes. The rest of the time was spent in rapt attention until he came to the trip home from Paris. That was the hardest part, that and letting Ellie change his dressings and fret over him. It didn't seem right bringing his world into hers.

"Chuck, listen to me. These aren't healing well at all. Some of the smaller puncture wounds look to be infected. Lose the pants, little brother, while Dr. Ellie makes things all better." She was fighting back tears remembering his narrative of just _how _he'd gotten these injuries and the cost to him.

Devon asked him bluntly why he was back. Was it to hide or had he come back to say goodbye?

"I've come back to regroup for a day or two at the most. I won't have the dogs on my family. You three are all I have left. I just needed to see you all and tell you how much I love you all and then I need to get the hell out of Dodge."

He looked at Morgan and smiled. "I need to use the Buy More locker room for a bit. Think the assistant manager can let me in?"

* * *

The next morning he showed up at the Federal Impound Yard and claimed Sarah's Porsche. Again, there were no questions asked. He took it back to the apartment and he and Morgan loaded the car with what he'd 'salvaged' from the inactive Castle.

"Will I see you again, Chuck? Or is this goodbye?" Ellie was trying not to cry. There'd been enough tears and she didn't want her brother's last image of her to be one of sorrow.

"I'll be back when I can, as often as I can. And I'll still send the postcards. Ellie, you'd have loved Deena. I did. I can finally admit it to myself. I'm so sorry she never got to experience EllieLove. Keep those pictures we sent. I'll want copies of some for myself. After you and Sarah, she's the only woman I've ever loved."

Chuck was holed up in a motel in Baltimore four days later. He'd driven cross country to decompress and to plan his next moves. It was time to act. If Beckman didn't believe him then he definitely was on the outside looking in. He looked at his watch and laughed. In 47 minutes General Diane Beckman was going to have her nose rubbed in reality, Bartowski-style.

* * *

**NSA HQ  
****FT Meade, MD**

She was just finishing up another round of budget meetings when her monitor flashed on an incoming videoconference link from the inactive Castle in Burbank.

She almost laughed. Leave it to him to be in the last place anyone would think to look for him. Then she got angry. They'd wasted resources trying to find him. He had people who cared about him looking for him and working to keep the threat of sanction from becoming reality. Casey and Barker were both convinced he was mentally ill from the stress of his last mission and the personal loss he'd sustained.

The NSA logo was replaced by Chuck's smiling face sitting in the Burbank Castle. She started to speak but he interrupted her.

"My conference, General. You sit there and listen for a change. No questions. Make sure you're recording this conference. Do not share it with your senior staff unless you're totally convinced I'm wrong. I'm not, but the proof requires a leap of faith and I don't have any faith left in you or the NSA."

He spoke for 19 minutes, occasionally consulting notes but mostly from memory.

"That ends my presentation. Bartowski and Carmichael are dead. Drake soon will be one way or another. I've presented my proof. If you don't believe me then understand something, General Beckman." He leaned forward toward the camera and so did she, drawn to him. "You will be personally responsible for delivering the NSA and CIA into the ranks for the Fulcrum/Ring Consortium. How many agents have to die before you believe what's obvious to so many others?"

"Thank you for your attention." The conference signal terminated. She started to call in her administrative assistant but stopped. _Suppose he isn't deranged, deluded, unhinged, unbalanced, mentally ill, crazy, nutty as a fruitcake. What if he is right?_

She flipped open her cell phone and called Colonel Casey. A leap of faith.

"Colonel, I need to see you in my office as soon as possible. Drake is in Los Angeles, holed up in the Burbank Castle. I just received a disturbing briefing and I need to know what's true, what's plausible and what cannot be confirmed. I'll see you in the morning. You may bring Agent Barker if you wish since he is privy to much of what the briefing contained and I'd like his input."

She checked her phone book and dialed the NAS – Los Angeles facility, spoke to the Chief of Station and ordered a soft extraction of Drake who was in the Burbank castle facility. He was to be flown to DC as soon as possible.

* * *

**Aboard NSA Gulf Stream2**

"So that's why you looked me up, Casey? Because of a leap of faith? I thought he was in Burbank? What aren't you telling me, John? Is this all leading up to 'Chuck is dead'?"

"He was alive 24 hours ago. That's 5 days after he blew…No! You're going to get the whole story. You won't know what questions to ask Beckman and I want to fill in the blanks. So he sent Beckman a conference that was actually prerecorded. He was less than 10 miles away from her at the time of transmission. And she was pissed because the extraction from the Castle had been a bust."

* * *

**NSA HQ  
****FT Meade, MD****1  
2 hours after the Drake/Beckman Teleconference**

They'd watched the recording of the 'briefing' twice and both times they picked up something they'd missed before. Casey wanted to run it one more time just to be safe but Beckman refused. Cole kept quiet. He was a 'guest' and wanted to remain on good terms with everyone.

"I want surveillance placed on my entire staff. I want logs of all calls in and out and I want any and all surveillance tapes of my area reviewed. God help them if Drake's right. God help us all."

On another part of the post Charles Drake sat in 'his' Porsche watching the car driven by Beckman's administrative assistant, Carol Lamb. He'd put a homing beacon on Colonel Schaeffer's Escalade but decided to watch Lamb since she was less likely to attract NSA's periodic surveillance. His laptop was open and he watched the Colonel's truck head out of town for the weekend. If his research was correct, he was heading to the Atlantic shore where he leased a beach house.

He drank from a bottle of water and then followed Lamb's Jeep Cherokee as she pulled out of the lot and headed…for the Shore. One link confirmed.

He lost her in traffic but continued on to what he hoped was her destination: the Colonel's beach house. He laughed when he blew past her and saw her on her cell phone. She'd probably made him and was calling for help or instructions.

Carol Lamb was nobody's fool and so when she saw the dark blue Porsche twice in traffic she started to worry and called the Colonel. "I think I've got a tail, a dark blue Porsche. I've seen it twice now. What should I do?"

"Are you certain it's the same Porsche and that it's following you?"

"Yeah. Well, I think so. I…wait, here it comes…there it goes like a bat out of hell. Sorry. I just don't want anything to screw up our weekend."

"You did the right thing. It's probably some blonde on her way to meet her boyfriend and she's late. I'll see you in an hour. I have such plans…"

Chuck also overtook the Colonel's Escalade and kept on going far faster than he should have but he was trusting to his NSA 'Get Outta Jail Free' card to smooth over any problems.

* * *

Chuck got to the beach house 20 minutes before the Colonel. He must have stopped for groceries or booze. He parked a block from the beach house and then walked along the beach with his duffel bag over his shoulder. It would be dark soon and he wanted all his preparations completed and tested before any of the participants arrived.

Schaeffer arrived and walked into the kitchen with his arms full and Chuck shot him in the ass with a low-dosage trank dart. He didn't want to have to waste time waiting for him to regain consciousness. It took him less than 10 minutes to truss up the good Colonel and then resume his wait for the other half of the traitorous pair. He amused himself with going through the Colonel's goody closet that was full of sex toys and gadgets and some really weird stuff that looked like it belonged in a woodworking shop.

He was 30 years old and he was not naïve but he honestly didn't have a clue what some of the stuff was for.

'_Um, Chuck, maybe we can help?'_

'_You know what this stuff is for? Whips, chains, artificial stuff, that's easy to figure out but this stuff is downright weird.'_

'_Um, ever hear of bondage, S&M, kinky sex?'_

'_I'm a guy, of course I've heard of it…but what the hell do you do with alligator clips and a latex mask and an strap…? And, oh crap, that's…that's just wrong…'_

'_Well, different strokes for different folks.'_

'_Back in the box. I need some brain bleach, a lobotomy…'_

'_Chuck, we're all so sorry about Deena. She was special, Chuck. A real…'_

'_I know.'_

"Big boy, Momma's here. Where are you?" Carol had finally arrived.

He stepped out of the bedroom and called her and then stepped back in and waited. She stepped into the bedroom already half naked and he shot her with the low-dose trank and then strung her up. He hated what he was about to do but it had to be done. So much depended upon it. He took a deep breath and began.

He was on his way to the airport an hour later. He'd called General Beckman's home number and told her where to find the Chief of Staff and his mistress. What was left of them could be prosecuted for murder and treason. He also told her to watch the video and take note of the names and agencies involved. He would handle the first three names. The rest were her responsibility.

He had an appointment in Kingston. And then Savannah.

* * *

**Aboard NSA Gulf Stream2**

Casey used his laptop to show Walker the video of Chuck's remote teleconference with the General. When Chuck leaned forward towards the end Sarah gasped. She hadn't laid eyes on Chuck in nearly eight months. There was such pain and anger in his face and eyes. He looked sad at the same time and stressed and older, not at all like her last image of him in Burbank.

"What do you think, Sarah? Does he make sense to you?"

"What? Oh, yeah, of course. It's logical, well presented and only lacks a confession to sew it up. Casey, the look in his eyes. I've never seen him so…defeated looking. Have you seen him since this was made?"

"No. I haven't seen him since that night in Miami. No one will admit to having seen him since then. As far as we can tell, Sarah, the only ones who see him surrender or die. He's left a string of bodies and well-documented evidence explaining their connections to either Fulcrum or the Ring."

"Intel reports are coming in from all over indicating that Fulcrum and the Ring are running scared. Defectors are reporting into CIA or NSA stations daily as well as their own governments. Our own agents are pursuing and arresting agents implicated by the defectors. It's like hunting season on the Consortium. He's escalating and focusing. It's almost like he has a time limit or something. Something's pushing him, driving him toward some final showdown."

"Casey, you make him sound like a serial killer."

"He's not a criminal, Walker. Get that thought out of your head. He offers each of them the chance to surrender to authorities and he's turned almost a dozen that way. He gives them fair warning and then if they don't turn themselves in he hunts them down. And then, so far, he wins."

"So where was his last known location?"

"A question first. When you were offered the Deputy Chief of Station did they tell you why a vacancy existed?"

"Yeah, they said the previous administrator had suddenly retir…oh, my, God. Jamaica? He's in Jamaica?"

"No, but he's been there. The previous deputy chief is in detention singing like a bird. He provided Chuck with a list of names of agents/operatives who worked for him and also the name of his immediate superior in the Consortium. Someone named Palace."

"Casey, if he's on all these watch lists, how is he moving around so freely? Airport security would nail his ass the first time he passed through. And Customs would have him tranked and zip-tied in minutes."

"Sarah, have you forgotten? He's an _agent _now. He's got the shield and a diplomatic passport issued for Operation Ransack. No one questions the shield or diplomatic passport. He moves through the fish without any problems. And Beckman forbids any entries in any watch lists because of security. She wants him to succeed and then come in when he's done."

"So why bother me with this? I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way but what good can I do? He doesn't trust me and I don't think he loves me anymore. He would have done something, called me or something after reading my letter."

"Um, Walker, he never read your letter. I didn't catch up with him until right before Ransack and he wouldn't take it. He had the saddest look on his face, Sarah. I asked him after he'd downloaded why he wanted it burned. Sarah, he told me he was afraid to read it. He was afraid that you'd written to tell him you loved Shaw and that…he was afraid of losing hope, Sarah. That's why he wouldn't read it. He was afraid of losing…hey, quit crying. There'll be time for that after we get him home."

"I'm so sorry, Casey, for ever going with Shaw. I was so confused. I was becoming a girl and he was becoming a spy. I lost sight of what I wanted and latched on to an anchor. It was such a stupid thing to do and then…my name. I told Shaw my real name trying to find an anchor. I was losing me and becoming someone else and I was so afraid of the changes in Chuck and the changes in me. He was trying for normal and I was running from it. And I think I wanted to hurt him for Prague and not going with me. Well, I guess I did. And I drove him into Hannah's arms and then Deena's."

"Enough of the girly stuff. We have to find him, save him from this fucking quest of his. He's going to die, Sarah, if we don't. So put all this emotional crap on hold until you two can talk. He needs you to be a professional one last time, Sarah Walker. Can you do it or was all this a waste of precious time?"

"Hell, yes. I have plans for him. We've wasted enough time as it is."

"Good. Keep those plans in mind. Keep focused. You'll need to…" His cell phone chirped and he answered, listened and then laughed. Sarah felt the jet begin to bank into a sharp turn, heading south.

"Casey, what's going on? Why are we turning south?"

"That was Beckman. He's in Marathon, Florida, just south of Miami in the Keys. Sarah, we were probably in the airport at the same time. Now he's in the Keys and is being…'delayed' for medical reasons until we can catch up with him."

"Are we going to take him into custody?" She was rapidly reviewing options for taking Chuck off the grid until things could sort themselves out. She was not losing him to a detention cell or a 'mental facility'. She knew all too well how the intelligence services operated and she was afraid for him.

"Hell, no! We're going to assist him. Team Intersect is back in business."

* * *

_**A/N: Well, well, well. Now all we have to do is grind up the Stump and then we're done here. APR**_


	19. Running a Marathon to Betrayal

NoMoreNextTimes18

* * *

**_T/N: I can't believe he wrote to the whole bunch of you about me and the baby alligators.! Let me tell you something, ask him about snakes. Garters, green racers, king snakes, OK, they do look like coral snakes, but GARTER snakes? He's out drowning crickets with my brother. For a damned Yankee he's not half bad. Nicole Fontenot._**

* * *

**Key West, FL**

Chuck was sitting in a Waffle House in Key West reviewing the computer files he'd copied from the Savannah hive before he blew it up. He was in way over his head and he knew it. He pushed his breakfast around on his plate thinking about what the information he'd found really meant.

Savannah had been the regional financial and data control point for Fulcrum. Even spy networks had bureaucracies. He'd followed the breadcrumbs Schaeffer had provided, turned one of the defectors on Schaeffer's list and taken him in to the local FBI office for processing. While the Feds were talking with NSA HQ and taking credit for the bust, Chuck slipped out and went to the hive.

The taxi garage was a front and was simply a series of offices and a computer center. At 2am Chuck slipped past the surveillance cameras and disabled the alarm. With the 2.0 it was easy as pie. The defector hadn't told him about the roving security in the form of a pair of mean-assed Junk Yard dogs.

Chuck ran back out the way he'd come in and took refuge in his car while the dogs whined and finally sat down and waited for their snack to come out. He tranked them both and felt guilty since the dosages were for humans. He dragged the drugged dogs away from the building. He didn't need innocent animals on his conscience.

He copied all the files he could easily access, rifled the filing cabinets and desks and then put a virus into the email system and set C-4 charges and left. Chuck was a mile from his motel when the charges leveled the building. He almost drove back to make sure the dogs were OK.

* * *

He found encrypted files that his laptop program was slowly rendering into a readable format.

Buried in a smaller file he found what he'd been searching for. A listing of domestic bank accounts shared with the Ring Consortium. He also found a list of agents in various agencies that'd received payoffs from those accounts in exchange for various services.

Deena Rico's name had been on the list.

She'd provided lists of trainees passing through the Ark going back over a year. He couldn't believe it. He wouldn't believe it. She'd told him that she loved him. He'd trusted her completely. She'd died helping to defend their position in England. He shook off his sudden depression and looked at the facts. If she'd been 'active' in the Consortium then she'd have informed them of Operation Ransack. It had to be a lie.

It just had to be.

* * *

**Aboard NSA Gulf Stream2**

"So we're back in the game as a team? That's great. But finish your story, John. I need as much information on what he's been up to since the funeral as I can get."

"Sarah, it all turned to crap in the days after Savannah. He'd found information there that he wouldn't share. Whatever it was had rattled him. He went to ground and told Beckman he'd done all he intended to do. He was finished. He wanted the bunker, Sarah. He told Beckman he'd work from underground as long as he never had to see anyone he knew from 'before'."

"That started Beckman on a mad search for him. She was finally convinced he was at the end of his rope and she wanted him in a staffed safe house getting therapy and not in a hole in the ground."

Beckman took another leap of faith. She called Ellie Bartowski Woodcomb.

* * *

**Casa Woodcomb  
****Burbank, CA 5am**

Ellie had just worked 18 hours straight and she was dead tired. Devon had already left for the hospital for early surgeries and she was enjoying the entire bed for a change. She loved Devon dearly but his sleeping habits left her hanging on to the edge of the bed.

She cringed when her cell phone rang. She checked the caller ID and saw Washington, DC as the caller location and hope surged through her that it might be her brother.

"Chuck? Is it you, sweetie?"

"No, Dr. Woodcomb, it's General Diane Beckman of the NSA. I'm Chuck's boss and right now I'm worried sick about him. Has he contacted you in the past 24 hours? Please, Eleanor. I knew your parents well. I know Chuck was in Burbank. He's ill, Eleanor. He's on the verge of a nervous breakdown. If he calls you, ask him, no, beg him, to call me. We want to help him. He's done so much for his country and now it's time for him to get something back in return."

"You're going to put him in a bunker, aren't you? A hole in the ground where he'll never be free again. You can go straight to Hell, General Beckman."

* * *

**Aboard NSA Gulf Stream2**

"I'll bet that chapped Beckman's ass big time. Ellie must be 'in the loop' if she knew about the bunker."

"Yeah. Beckman was…nonplussed, to say the least."

"How long ago was that, Casey?"

"Eight days ago. He called her from a one-time cell but it was homed into Miami so we don't know if he bought it before he left or if he was there later and bought it. We did get a strong lead that he was in Key West. One of our 'off the books' doctors submitted a request for reimbursement for services for one Charles Drake."

"Go on, Casey. I swear to God you're dragging this out just to spite me. Please, what was wrong with him?"

"Exhaustion and infection. He hadn't been tending to his wounds very well if at all. The doctor kept him 24 hours. Actually, Chuck kept the doctor 24 hours and then released her when he started to feel better. He filled his own prescriptions from the doctor's stash and took off."

"Her?" Probably a damned brunette. She toyed with the idea of dying her hair back to its natural color several times but never had the nerve.

"Well, yeah. The doctor's a woman. So what? You don't think a woman can be as capable a doctor as a man? What century do you live in, Walker?"

She sighed and motioned Casey to continue. "Whatever, Casey. Moving right along…"

* * *

**Waffle House  
Key West, FL  
3 days ago**

The waitress smiled and brought him orange juice and coffee without being asked. He'd been coming here twice a day for the past three days and she'd become very friendly. She reminded him of Sam Walker in a way. Blonde hair, blue eyes, but there the similarities ended. She was open and carefree, mentioning on more than one occasion that she'd like to show him the real Key West if he'd like?

He'd begged off with the excuse that he was leaving the next morning and really wanted to get to bed early. Big mistake. Her smile faltered and she walked away. He ate, well, he pushed his food around and then drove back to his motel room.

The computer had finally finished chugging through the encryptions and he could review the files at last.

The first file was a series of money drops for informants and peripheral contact people. He scanned the list and found several names coinciding with training sites. Now he knew for certain how the segue from Bartowski to Carmichael to Drake had been discovered. It had all started in Marathon, not at Desert One. Schaeffer must have sent the force to Desert One because _he_ knew who he was.

The next file was simply junk.

He finally found something towards the end of the encrypted files list six hours later. He found a list of code names with their 'public personas' listed beside them. He located the Chief of Staff and the General's admin assistant, several lesser gnomes in cryptanalysis but none in the NSA operations area. He breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't ready for any more heartache.

He hit the mother lode in the final file. It contained a partial listing of Fulcrum/Ring agents with their code names and areas of assignment. He found Daniel Shaw's name and immediately looked for Walker's. If Shaw could pull off infiltrating the Omaha Project and even slip by Beckman then he wanted to review 'all known associates' as well. Shaw's code name was Pollux.

Chuck searched through the entire list of 173 agents but failed to find Sarah or Sam Walker or another entry for Deena Rico. Shaw's new area of responsibility was the West Indies and the Caribbean islands. Interesting. One of the rats he'd turned up had been the Deputy Chief of Station in Kingston, Jamaica. Maybe Shaw had been promoted?

One of the names that Schaeffer had mumbled through broken and filed teeth was 'Palace' and he didn't see it anywhere. He did a mental equivalent of a SQL search of all names beginning with 'PA*' and stopped and laughed. Palace was what people heard. But PALLAS was what people would see if it were written. He ran it through Deuce and came up with three hits.

One was dead, another was brand new and still in training but the final one was the maiden name of a married CIA agent… Eve Pallas Shaw…listed as missing and presumed dead while on deep cover. Her husband was Daniel Shaw, Sam's boyfriend. Was Walker a Ring agent? Had Shaw turned her?

He pulled up the Shaw woman's file but it had been heavily redacted to the point of being absolutely useless. He needed that information. Palace or Pallas was one of the 'inner circle' of the Consortium.

Finding and killing that person and arresting Daniel Shaw would mean the scales would be balanced for Deena. He would have closure and then he would disappear. How Sam Walker handled Shaw's betrayal was her problem.

Chuck needed that information to complete his mission. He had to have it. He called Beckman.

* * *

"Drake? Is it you, Chuck?"

"Good tradecraft, General. Suppose it wasn't?" He laughed and then pressed on with his conversation.

"General, I've found members of the Ring inner circle. Daniel Shaw is one of the lesser players but his wife, Palace or P-A-L-L-A-S sits on or near the throne. I've found their files in the Savannah data but what's in the intersect for Eve Pallas Shaw has been so redacted that it isn't worth shit. Can you help?"

"Why do you need this information, Drake? What do you intend to do? Shaw's CIA not NSA so I can't do much."

"Can you run a quick background check on Eve Pallas and then get back with me? I'll send copies of my analysis via email while I'm waiting."

"Chuck, you sound terrible. Are you ill? You've been under a tremendous strain. Come in and get help."

"I'll come in for the bunker, nothing else. And that's only after I'm done, General. I figure I have one last mission, a reckoning."

"Chuck, Deena would want you to get help, to get better…"

"Deena Rico was on the Ring payroll for the past year, sending names of trainees going through Desert One. How's that for irony, General. My tigress was a Ring traitor. Are all you women… Never mind. Get me what I need. I'm emailing this to you via NSA intranet. Don't let me down, General. For once, do the right damned thing for the right damned reason."

He was so damned tired of all of this spy crap. He got what he wanted and now… he wanted out.

* * *

**Aboard NSA Gulf Stream2**

"Every woman he's met has turned on him or betrayed him some how. When did this happen, Casey?" _Chuck must be at the end of his rope, desperate for something sane, safe, and normal._

"Three days ago. We got a hit on the WiFi location he was riding in Key West but no joy on finding Chuck. He probably sat in a car near it and just bootlegged onto their signal. Happens all the time."

"And was Beckman able to find out what he needed about Pallas and Shaw?"

"Some things. Probably enough for him and 2.0 to come up with a plan to find and eliminate them. You know when he takes out Pallas he's going underground. That was the agreement. Actually, he's going into a safe house for evaluation and treatment. You don't throw away someone like Chuck just because he's lost his grip on things."

"Casey, you've already said he's as sane as he was in Burbank. Why put him in protective custody?"

"Beckman's worried he'll try to take his own life. She figures, and I agree, that he's had one major trauma after another for the past three years and he's broken."

"Traumas? What kind of traumas?"

"Think, Walker. Put those blonde roots to work. Shouldn't be too hard since with the exception of actually getting the intersect, you and I have messed with his mind and you, sweetheart, have basically done open heart surgery on the boy, several times, and then to find out Deena was a Ring operative must have been the final straw. This didn't help either."

He took a flash drive from his briefcase and activated it. The SAS had taken pictures as they debarked from their helicopters.

"Oh, Casey…"

"Yeah. Twenty-three bodies, not counting Rico. You can see where they holed up near the stone wall."

He tapped another key and the view shifted from the helicopter to the field. She could see Casey and Barker running toward the pile of rocks near the stone wall. Another tap and there was Cole Barker leaning over Chuck but with a pistol in his face. Another tap and there was Chuck holding Deena. The look on his face broke her heart and brought tears to her eyes.

"No more, please, Casey, no more."

* * *

**Marathon Naval Training Center  
Marathon, FL**

When Casey and Walker sat in the airport in Miami, Chuck was sitting in Sam's Porsche across the parking lot from the entrance to the Center. It was almost time for lunch and he was waiting for someone…the navy clerk who'd passed his 'Carmichael' identity to the Ring.

He'd been so happy the last time he'd been here. He remembered holding her hand and then boarding the Jet Ranger for Miami. So much had happened in the past 8 months and he'd been incredibly happy with Deena and he thought she'd been happy with him.

* * *

He shook his head to clear his thoughts just as the Petty Officer who had in-processed him drove his truck off the base. Chuck followed him and then pulled in behind his truck when he parked it at an apartment building. When the sailor got out to find out who'd blocked him in Chuck approached him and stuck his silencer-equipped 9mm in his crotch.

"Shut up. One word, just one, and I'll leave you here in the street bleeding to death. Now, who else is in your apartment?"

"No – no one…Jesus, take the truck. I ain't got no money. I ain't got no drugs. What do you want?"

"Answers. Now, lead the way, Petty Officer, and be quick about it. I've waited all morning for your sorry ass."

Twenty-two long minutes later a grim-faced Chuck left the apartment, almost overcome with disgust. He had the lead he'd been searching for but it came at a high price.

Chuck needed answers and so far his employer had been unwilling or unable to provide them. He needed to go outside for help.

He drove back to where he'd waited for the Petty Officer and lit a cigarette. He'd started smoking again on the drive back from L.A. It calmed his nerves. He didn't give a shit about his health. Good health was just a slow rate of death.

* * *

"Janine, this is Charles Drake, I don't know if you remember me from London but…" He held the phone away from his ear wondering if he'd suffered lasting damage to his hearing.

"Charles! Oh, of course I remember you. How did you get this number?"

_'Suck it up, Chuck. You needs answers and she holds the key…'_

"I have my ways. So how is London's most alluring redhead? Still baby sitting the geek?"

"Oh, my God, yes, Charles. He's sooo boring. So, are you in London? I'd love to see you."

_'I wonder if that's a sample of the Cole/Sam dialogue from Burbank?'_

_"_Yeah, I'd like that but I'm in a bit of a jam and I really need your help. Can I talk to your geek? Once I get this handled I'll call you and we can spend some quality time together. How long will this assignment last, do you think? Can you get leave?"

_'I can't believe I'm doing this to him, a fellow nerd. Sorry, man.'_

"It'll be done as soon as they no longer need him. Then I suppose it's back to the reassignment pool. I don't suppose you know of any agents without partners doing international work, Charles?"

" I just might know someone. Let me speak your asset, please? I'll keep it short. And I'll call you, when I get back into town."

Chuck spent 10 minutes on the phone while his hacker found everything possible on 'Pallas' and Eve Pallas and Eve Shaw. Chuck warned him not to trust the system and not to fall for his handler, but to find another way to be 'useful' or run. He would help him out if he got into an 'Orc fight' if he could. He left him his NSA cell number and thanked him for his help.

_'I've become Laszlo…'_

_'Chuck, you're better than Laszlo. He told you things to mess with your mind and to screw up your handlers, you told him the truth without the malice. You did good, you helped him. Think. Did laszlo help you or make himself feel better?'_

_'Fine, Deuce. Rationalize it anyway you please. I did it to salve my own conscience.'_

_'Chuck…'_

_'In the box, Deuce. All 200+ of you.'_

He drove to a WiFi coffee shop and booted up his laptop and checked his 'personal' email account and then downloaded the attachment from London.

Jackpot!

**A/N: Maybe it's Chuck who will ultimately need redemption? All Sarah did was try to preserve her 'self'- to survive - one of our instinctive drives. But Chuck - getting up close and personal with death takes something from you, replacing it with something dirty that no amount of soap can remove. If you're reading this, I must have posted it. Sorry for the tone.**

**APR**


	20. Sleeping Through the Reunion

NoMoreNextTimes19

* * *

**Marathon Air/Sea Training Center**

The screen door to her training office slammed shut startling her from a salacious daydream involving an older man, a beach blanket and missing clothing. There were no trainees for the remainder of the week and she was basically killing time until the end of the duty day.

"Who the hell slammed my door?" She walked out from behind her desk and then stopped, startled and pleased at the same time.

"Oh, crap. There must be a tsunami coming…or is it sea monsters? Hello, Agent Drake. How the hell are you? What are you doing here?"

"Well, I remember once that a sexy Master Chief in a bikini asked me to remember her if I ever needed a diver or a boat driver…and I need both, Mako… and a boat, too."

"Sit down, Chuck, before you fall down. I'll be right back. I got a trainee due for pickup and I want to make sure he's covered. There's coffee in the pot and I think some doughnuts left over from this morning. I'll be right back." She walked out of the office and across the parking lot to the admin office to use the phone.

"Beckman, secure but public." She was interviewing replacements for her administrative assistant and in a surly mood.

"Master Chief Madison, Marathon, General. He's here in my office across the parking lot. Looks like 6'4" of walking crap. You still want a soft extraction? It'll take almost 2 hours for the Feds from Miami to get here and he looks like he'd spook and run if he sensed the slightest thing off."

"No. I have his team flying into DC from Miami. I'll turn them around and they'll be there in the same time frame. Delay his departure, Mako. Keep him there if you have to drag him to your bed. I want him with his team. Can you do that?"

She was blushing. She hadn't had a man in her bed in ages. She wondered if she still knew how.

"Yes, General."

"How are his legs?"

"His legs? How the hell would I know?" She cringed, expecting a dressing-down but instead she heard the General laugh.

"You mean he still has his pants on? Seriously, he's nursing some infected wounds. I finally got his sister in L.A. to listen to reason. He's not cross-trained in first aid, an oversight I'll have corrected, and probably figures the shots he got there will be enough. Get your medics to check him out. Use whatever excuse you need to. Then delay, delay, delay. I'll recall his team." She hung up.

She dialed another number and alerted her corpsman to be ready for a patient and not to be surprised when she asked him to sedate him.

Chuck was standing on her stoop in front of the office smoking a cigarette. "Nasty habit, Drake. Lose the butt. Federal law. I can't find my damned yeoman so I had to make arrangements myself. Want to go for a boat ride?"

"Actually, I have a favor to ask. I need some dressings changed and I don't have any supplies. Could you help a fellow government drone out, Master Chief?" He smiled but it didn't reach his eyes.

"What happened, Chuck? Where's Agent Rico?"

"Dead. Two weeks ago. I brought her home to her family in Miami. I'm sort of on leave."

"Wearing a wool suit in Florida? Yeah, bull shit. The truth, Drake."

"I guess I'm AWOL. I left after the funeral. I was drawing too much attention and there were issues with opposition forces involving her family. I couldn't put them at risk, Mako. I'd already killed their daughter and sister."

She reached out and clutched his forearm. "I'm so sorry, Chuck. She seemed like a delightful person and if you could have seen the look on your face when you first saw her…"

"Yeah. Well, I could use the medical attention. Then we can see about picking up your trainee."

It was that easy. Run a saline IV and use it to inject a sedative telling him it was additional antibiotics. It made cleaning the wounds easier and a lot less painful for the patient. Additional antibiotics were eventually administered so she really didn't lie to him. She left the room when the corpsman removed the dressing on one infection site. She didn't know how he could stand on the leg, it was so swollen.

Afterwards, the corpsman called her into the room. "A few days away from blood poisoning, Master Chief. He'll need to stay off this leg for a while and run a heavy course of antibiotics. I can take out some of the stitches but the rest, see where they've torn out? They'll need to be removed and restitched. Someone else got to him recently. See that fresh scar?"

"Yeah, he got it in the Harbor a while ago."

**Jet Ranger Helicopter  
****40 Miles north of Marathon**

Sarah had been quiet the entire flight down to Marathon from Miami. The Jet Ranger seemed to be going slower and slower as time went by. She was so anxious to see Chuck and the closer they got, the higher her level of anxiety got.

"Casey, how much longer?" for the 7th or 8th time.

"Just a bit longer, Walker. You should have gone before we left."

"Asshole."

**Marathon Air/Sea Training Center**

The chopper had barely landed when Casey opened the door to let Sarah out. She did a 360 looking for someone in authority. The chopper took off again leaving them standing with their bags in the middle of the helipad off the parking lot. Casey motioned her toward a building he knew from experience was the Admin.

Master Chief Madison hadn't changed since returning from a test of the Scorpion's engine overhaul. She was wearing cutoffs and an unbuttoned and tied off utility shirt that revealed her very feminine six-pack and other attributes. She wasn't one to demand 'uniform of the day' in Florida's heat. Besides, whipping along at 60kts required casual clothes. It just wasn't fun in uniform.

"We're looking for Master Chief Madison. Can you direct us to him, please?"

"I'm Master Chief Madison. Who the hell are you and why are you on my base?" Two could play the asshole game.

Casey's eyes narrowed and he fought to keep a smile from breaking his face into pieces. He'd already smiled once today and it still hurt.

"No name tag, totally out of uniform, improper cover…I could go on, Master Chief, but why bother. I'm Colonel Casey, NSA and this is my partner, Agent Walker of the CIA." Sarah noticed as did the Chief that Casey's eyes had not risen above her bust.

"Excuse the Colonel, Master Chief, he wasn't breast-fed as a child. I'm Sarah Walker and I'm looking for Agent Drake. General Beckman sent us."

"Ah, that explains why he hasn't looked me in the eye. No problem. I always make special allowances for the deprived. And the handicapped," eyeing Casey's cane. "Follow me, please. I'm really glad you're here. He's sedated and I don't want to be alone with him when he wakes up. He's one mean son of a bitch when he's crossed. There's a bunch of Ring divers who can attest to that."

Sarah's eyebrows shot up and Casey just smirked. Chuck had changed and Walker was about to see just how much. He just hoped he could be around to watch the look on her face when Chuck 2.0 came on-line.

As they walked toward the Chief's office Casey found himself wondering what else the Master Chief made special allowances for. He shook his head and berated himself. He had a mission. No time for that stuff. He still needed the damned cane and he hated that he appeared less than 100% in front of the Chief for a variety of reasons.

"What's his condition, Master Chief? Can he function in the field? We have a mission." Casey wanted the bottom line before reporting in to Beckman.

"He's got a badly infected wound and my corpsman restitched several others where the stitches had pulled out. He also pulled out these. I guess they were missed in the first treatment. It happens." She handed Casey a specimen jar with some metal fragments in it from a drawer in her desk.

"Surprised there weren't more. He's been running around quite a bit since England and he's been careless about taking his meds and keeping clean dressings on them."

"Well, we're running a heavy dose of antibiotics and that should knock out the infection. He was a few days away from blood poisoning. He also has a few new lacerations and contusions. I'd say he'd been running into trees or something but I don't have the need to know, do I?"

"No. But I appreciate what you've done for him. His partner's dead. That's why he's in Florida."

"Yeah, Chuck told me. Like pulling teeth to get anything out of him. So he's AWOL? Looking at jail time or something?"

"That's up to him. Is he mission-capable?"

"Depends on how strenuous the mission is."

"Listen to you two. It's like pulling teeth. Casey, tell her, for God's sake. She knows. Beckman's cleared her. I'm going to check on him." Sarah wanted some 'alone time' with Chuck. She wanted to see, first hand, the damage and possible limitations. Then she wanted to do nothing more than become his 2nd skin for a year or two.

"She's got it bad for him, doesn't she?" smiling at Casey when Walker had left to see about him.

"Yeah. It's a long story. She was his handler back before he became an agent and they had a thing without ever acknowledging it to each other. Well, he did. She was so emotionally constipated that he finally gave up. Long story."

"Well, I have Scotch, Bourbon, single malt and all night, Colonel."

"John."

"Maureen. Hello, John Casey."

"I need to report to the General and find a place for us to stay then…I'd like to tell you about Chuck and Sarah and a cast of thousands."

"Good. You both can stay at the VOQ although I'll bet you $20 she spends the night in the chair beside the bed."

"You're on. She'll be in the bed wrapped around his sleeping lankiness before midnight."

"Bet."

* * *

**Dispensary  
Air/Sea Training Center**

She slipped into the room quietly, not sure if he was awake and not wanting to wake him if he was still asleep. She sighed and sat down in the visitor's chair and took his hand in hers, examining everything for changes.

Finished, she sat on the side of the narrow hospital bed and stared at his face, looking for changes, hoping there were none but not fooling herself with her wishful thinking. There were a few scabbed-over cuts on his face, new wrinkles around his eyes and he'd cut his hair shorter and looked more mature. He'd filled out. He'd grown up without her and it hurt.

She couldn't resist. She ran her fingertips lightly across his face, her eyes closed, memorizing the contours of his face, the softness and fullness of his lips, the badly set broken nose and the deep creases that now lined his forehead.

Sarah placed her palm on his chest feeling the rise and fall of each breath and the barely perceptible beating of his heart. She saved the bare legs for last, checking out the location of each wound, and the deep scar mid-thigh on his left leg and the swellings and redness of the infection sites.

He'd changed, matured, gotten more physically appealing than ever, if such a thing were possible. She was toast. She'd already told Beckman who hadn't doubted her for a minute but used it against her to hook her up with Shaw, now all she had to do was convince HIM.

His eyes were moving rapidly in REM sleep. Whatever he was dreaming must have been upsetting because he started to sweat and his arms trembled as if he were chilled. She pulled the sheet up to his chin and then went back to rejoin her partner in the Chief's office.

"Hey, Sarah, we're staying here tonight in the VOQ. You can hang around here as long as you want once we get you situated. The General wants a briefing tomorrow morning on his condition. I'd like you to handle that. Talk to him, Sarah. Explain what's happening and ask him what his plans and intentions are. He's got a pass on this latest escapade because of the results but any new ops are sanctioned only if approved before hand. OK?"

"Sure. Let's get unpacked and eat something while you explain to me exactly what the hell he's been doing since Burbank. Nothing held back, Casey. No more secrets."

"Deal."

"Hey, one of you needs to take custody of Chuck's car. Don't want those snazzy wheels left unattended. You spies sure get the sweet rides." The Chief didn't want anyone messing with Chuck's Porsche.

She threw the keys to Sarah. "These are Porsche keys…" She stared at the key chain…"Hey, these are _my_ keys… How?" She was speechless and Casey started to laugh. "Well, you left it in Burbank when you and the Stump left so I guess he just appropriated it."

"The Stump?" Madison inquired, curious because Walker looked totally unhinged for a moment.

"I'll tell you tonight, Maureen. It's part of the long version."

"Well, I guess I'll lay in a couple more fifths, John, since it's the long version."

"You two do know that I'm standing right here and Casey you need to stop pawing the ground. It can't be good for your leg."

"Yeah, why the cane, Colonel?"

"OK, but it's not funny. When Chuck ducked out on us in Miami I lost my temper and kicked the damned tire of the van he'd wasted…and broke some toes."

"Oh. Well. That's…sad, isn't it, Agent Walker." Sarah didn't say anything. She was trying to keep the look on her face frozen in 'concern' but failed and almost collapsed in a heap, turning purple trying to catch her breath.

"Walker, your time is coming. Chuck won't always be unconscious."

"Sorry, sorry, sorry. Isn't that the foot Chuck shot your widdle piggy off?"

Maureen suddenly got very warm when Casey narrowed his eyes at his partner and growled. Something in her 'core area' started to twitch, reminding her of several things all at once. Clean sheets, fresh towels, spare toothbrush, clean out the hair in the tub drain and shave her legs…

* * *

The three of them sat in Maureen's office (no one knew her nickname and she wanted to keep that secret for now), eating pizza, drinking beer and listening to Casey's rendition of The Adventures of Chuck. Although he kept it well hidden, the Colonel did have a wry and perverse sense of humor when he loosened up a bit…and he was loose this early Florida evening.

"So he steals a Huey 1E and takes off only to get bashed outta the sky like a gnat when the EMP hits. When we got there the chopper was on its back, rotors all torn off, spine broken and pieces of it for 50 yards. They're upside down but somehow alive and relatively unharmed."

"And Sarah, he shows up here the next day and introduces himself and then tells me 'it was interesting meeting you' when I told him to explain his recent hospitalization or get the hell off my base."

"Yeah, I was in Beckman's office when you called. She wanted to know if he'd sunk your favorite boat yet." Sara started to laugh but then stopped, remembering what came next.

"Beckman told me he was dead and sent me off with Shaw. For eight months I thought he was dead. For eight months I lived a hollow life, building a dossier on someone I loathed being with. All for the fucking greater good. Damn her!"

Casey caught Maureen's eye and shook his head sending her the message to leave it alone.

"I'm sorry. I need some time with him. I need to explain so much, apologize for so much, and I have to ask him for so much. Casey, I'll see you in the morning. G'night, Master Chief."

The two sat in silence. One upset that he hadn't let her know that he was still alive and the other upset that she'd brought sadness to what had been a great evening with new friends.

"Well, I'd say that could have gone better."

"Maureen, part of me is glad it hurts her. She shit on Chuck. Threw him away for another agent for all the wrong reasons. She never considered the impact of her actions on him, just her. She was a selfish bitch at all the wrong times. But she's changed and she's ready for him now. I just don't know how he'll feel about it."

"Well, John, that's their problem, isn't it? I really think she's too late. I think Chuck moved on with Rico even though I could tell he was resisting her at every turn."

"She wore him down, Maureen. Got to him. Then she died. And he found out she was a Ring operative and something in him died. Walker can give him that back if he'll let her."

"John Casey, you are a closet romantic. You old softy. C'mon. Let's go get naked and do disgusting things to one another. I like you, John Casey, and I know you like me. We're old enough and wise enough to recognize it so get your cane, old timer, and I'll help you to my place."

* * *

_**A/N: Now come the 'reunion', the mission, the confrontation, the reckoning, and the end. Steel is made stronger by tempering it in the fire but it becomes brittle and shatters if left too long without quenching. And that's all the hint I'm giving. APR**_


	21. Trials Tribulations Leaps of Faith

NoMoreNextTimes20

A/N: Sorry for the length. Trying to get this done and do some serious fishing. Nicole's getting frantic with the pace of the nups and that damned 'event planner' keeps interrupting our lives. She just left for NO for the final month of teaching and then her dis/def and I'm finishing this up, doing a little financial stuff and enjoying the weather. APR

* * *

**Marathon Air/Sea Training Center – Dispensary  
****10pm**

Chuck got out of the bed and cursed Mako Madison with horrible things when he realized she'd drugged him and kept him until the Agency's 'enforcers' could arrive and take him into custody. He'd asked for medical help but not anesthesia.

He noted new dressings, a tightness underneath several of them and reduced swelling in the calf. OK, she'd done exactly what he'd asked and he'd just given her the opportunity to follow her orders.

He used the lavatory and then faced a decision. Leave or stay. Escape to fight and die or stay to explain and be entombed, dying a little each day. He made a much simpler decision first.

"Sam? Sam?" He didn't want to wake her but he could only imagine how her neck would feel in the morning twisted like it was. Something bad must have happened. Her lap and the floor around her were littered with tissues and she'd obviously been crying unless her new eye makeup called for vertical mascara and eyeliner stripes.

She wasn't as heavy now as she'd been in Burbank or he'd gotten stronger. He picked her up from the chair and bent to put her down on the bed when he heard her whisper " Please, Chuck, don't let me go. Not again. Hold on this time. Don't let me go, please?" He was so startled by her tone of voice that carried something he'd never heard from her, pleading, that he almost dropped her. She wrapped her arms around his neck tightly.

He sat on the bed, still holding her, and she took her arms from around his neck and snaked them around his bare back, snuggling against his bare chest, her head tucked under his chin.

"What's got you so upset, Sam? Has something happened to Daniel?" Why else would she be crying?

"Not Sam, Chuck. Not Sam again, ever. I'm Sarah, Chuck. Your Sarah. I'm so sorry for…"

"No. Stop. Don't 'handle' me, Agent Walker. I'm a big boy now. I won't be 'handled'. Just tell me why you're here. In Marathon. In this room."

She sighed and loosened her hold on him. She'd lost him now. He wouldn't believe anything she said and she couldn't blame him.

"Beckman told me you were dead, killed in the harbor here at Marathon. I'd already made a deal with her to get back on the team but she told me I had to earn my way and she wanted the dirt on Shaw. So she sent me away with him but called me back the next evening. She told me you were dead."

"Why would…" She put her hand to his lips.

"Shhh, Chuck. I've spent the whole day listening to your story, now spend a few minutes listening to mine."

" The morning you left for training I realized that I loved you, the 'until death do us part' love you, and that Shaw had been a mistake, a horrible mistake on my part. I threw him out and went to the briefing and was told the team was gone and that Shaw and I were to return to DC. No one would tell me what had become of you until I met with Beckman the next day."

"Chuck, look." She held out the arm wearing the bracelet. "It's never been off since Burbank. I wore it to the briefing that morning hoping you'd see it and talk with me but you were gone."

"I told Beckman that I was in love with you and that I wasn't 25 any more and I wanted a life but she told me you were just starting a career and then she assigned you and Rico as partners. She sent me off with Shaw telling me that the sooner I got the goods on him the sooner she'd consider me on your team again. And then…you were dead."

She started to cry again. He just held her and rocked her until she could speak coherently again. Chuck had no idea how long that was and didn't care. He needed to hear what she had to say even if he didn't believe a word of it.

"Sorry. I get so upset lately. I cry over silly things. When I was in London Casey ordered me to DC but Shaw got us assigned as CIA liaisons and I ran into Cole Barker. He told me you were alive and I…I had a panic attack and passed out."

"Shhh. Don't get upset now. Tell me the rest, Sam."

She sighed. "Damn it, Bartowski, quit being a horse's ass. I fucked up, OK? I was so lost and I just had to have…I don't know. You left me in Prague, you came back and…and I… Oh, Chuck, I love you more than anything and I'll die if you don't love me back. I never meant to hurt you. You were with Hannah and…"

"Shhh. Calm down. I have questions I need answers to and I want the truth not some Agency bullshit. Are you and Shaw together?"

"No. I wouldn't let him near me after DC. I…"

"Are you working for the Ring? I'll let you go if you are, so don't worry. I'll let you run but I have to know, Sam, I have to know before anything else, so tell me. Are you a Ring operative?"

"You'll let me go? You won't have me arrested? Why not? Why let me go?"

"Because I love you. Not some adolescent crush like at first, not some hormone-laden love like with Jill, no, real love. The kind where the other person's more important than anything or anyone, the first face you want to see in the morning and the last face at night. So, I'll let you go, tell them lies, anything to protect you. I'm a shitty agent, Sam, because I came compromised, I just refused to acknowledge it."

"And I owe you an apology, Sam. I understand about the kiss at the bomb in the very beginning, about Bryce and Cole and even Shaw. After the shitstorm at Desert One I'd have had sex with Rico among the bodies, I just… I'm sorry for being an ass. I understand the need to reconnect with life now. So, tell me, Sam. Are you a Ring agent?"

"The Chuck I know would never lie. You'd let me go, honest?"

"Yeah, honest. Are you a Ring agent? Did Shaw turn you?" Too many questions from her. Too much indecision for a simple yes or no answer.

"Chuck, I – I –"

He put her back down in the chair where he'd found her when he'd awakened.

"Just go, Sam. I've got your Porsche. The keys are in my pants. I'll tell Beckman something to give you time to get lost, get back with the Ring. Just…just go, Sam, and please be careful." He fumbled around looking for his pants. He needed a cigarette and he needed…he had what he needed right there but…

"I have the keys if that's what you're looking for. Maureen wanted someone to take care of your 'ride'. You have good taste in cars, Bartowski, and I see you've learned not to ride the clutch."

She debated. Was he telling the truth? Did he mean what he said? Or was he really the quintessential agent she'd been hearing about? Would he just let her go on her way without trying to stop her? A leap of faith.

"I trust you, Chuck. I trust you to keep your word. So I'll tell you the truth."

"Ahhh, here they are." He stood up, his back to her, and fumbled a cigarette out of the pack and lit it. He'd kept the silencer on his weapon and had put it on the bedside table and laid his pants over it when he'd first sat down on the bed with the medic. If Walker was a Ring agent, he'd let her go and pray he never ran across her again. He knew she was the consummate agent, even as a Ring traitor, and that she'd put personal feelings aside and kill him if the situation warranted.

"Yes, Chuck. I work for the Ring now."

He was glad his back was to her. "Then get out, Sam. Get out now! The next time I see you, I'll try to take you out, kill you and I will, Sam, just like you'll have to. It's all we're good for now. I meant what I said. I love you more than anything. So please, please go now." He could feel the pressure building behind his eyes and the beginnings of tears.

"Chuck…"

"Please… Sam, please, run, hide, don't let them find you."

"Look at me, Chuck Bartowski. Turn around and look at me!"

He slipped the safety off the pistol and turned toward her. She gasped as she saw first the pistol he held and then his face, so cold and emotionless and yet…there were tears in his eyes.

She touched his face, letting her fingertips trail down his chest.

"I had to know, Chuck. I had to know if you really loved me and you do. I could never work for the Ring, not knowing they were trying to kill the man I love. So lying about the Ring was a leap of faith for me. Please, don't be mad."

"You – it was a test? I could have killed you, you idiot! Where the hell are your brains, Sam!"

"God damn you, it's _SARAH_!! _Forget _Sam. Forget I ever said it. It's always going to be Sarah so get used to it. You'll be using it for the next 50 damned years or so." She looked so tired, worn, world-weary. He could see that whatever had happened today had taken a toll on her physically.

"Get in the bed, Sam…shit, Sarah. I've trained myself to use 'Sam'; somehow it distanced me from…from the pain of you fucking Shaw. I could pretend it wasn't my Sarah he was banging, that my Sarah was still…"

"Stop torturing yourself, Chuck. I said goodbye to 'Sam' the moment I knew you were alive, even before that. We both were stupid so let's agree on that and then move on. I'm tired, Chuck, and I'm recovering from surgery. I'm on convalescent leave and…can I stay here, with you, please? I've got a room at the VOQ and I can use it if you don't…"

"This bed stinks like pain, fear and worry. Let's use your VOQ. I don't feel up to anything and now I know you're not up for anything in the near future so let's use this time for…becoming the couple we always should have been: Chuck and Sarah, OK?"

"Yes. But get dressed. Please. At least put on pants. And a shirt. I didn't realize you were…naked under the sheet until you stood to get the keys. Clothes, please? I never thought I'd be telling you to get dressed, not in my wildest dreams."

"Yeah, the corpsman's work does detract from the manly image, doesn't it?"

"That isn't it at all and you damned well know it. It's been 8 months without you and now, the timing couldn't be worse. I had a benign fibroid tumor removed. I'll be fine but…"

"So this trip has been hard on you?"

"You have no idea. I've been in such mental anguish, Chuck, but you made it all go away. I was terrified of learning your story. At first when Casey approached me in the airport I thought it was to tell me you were dead, then as he explained things, that they'd lost you somehow and wanted me to find you, then that you were killed in Savannah and finally that you'd turned up here. The anticipation of seeing you again was almost painful and I was so afraid you were going to reject me. It was all mental pain but I am tired."

Chuck got dressed and then started to laugh.

"Share the joke, Chuck?"

"Casey and Mako are going to flip out when they come in here and we're gone."

"Mako?"

"Maureen 'Mako' Madison, Master Chief and all around ball-buster. They call her that because…hell, ask her yourself."

"I need my laptop and suitcase out of the car, Sarah, and then I'm ready to become your pillow for the night. I have work to do. You can watch or sleep."

"Chuck, I'm sorry about not being able to y'know... I mean…"

"Shhh. I haven't exactly been a monk." He waited for the explosion but was surprised by her response.

"How long did it take Rico to get in your pants, Chuck?" She was grinning. "I'll bet it didn't take long."

"Eight months and 12 days. It was in London. And not because she wasn't happy with…things." Did she hear a whisper of regret in his voice? Sad not to have had more intimate time with his dead partner?

Sarah sensed that she'd stepped in it. His response was not what she'd expected and it surprised her. "I wasn't being catty, Chuck. She was beautiful and she could be everything to you as an agent that I couldn't be as a handler. I'm surprised you held out that long."

"So am I." There was that look on his face again. The one that made her want to just grab him and hold him close and never let him be hurt again.

* * *

She fell asleep as soon as she'd curled up against him. He set his laptop on his stomach and began reading and occasionally making notes in a pop-up window. The laptop chimed a conference request and he hit the 'accept' button without thinking.

"Ah, the elusive Agent Drake. How is Mako treating you? Have Casey and Walker arrived yet?"

He gave a very guarded response. "Yes, General, they're in the VOQ."

"And you're in the dispensary shaking off the effects of the sedative, no doubt. I'm sorry to have resorted to such deception but it was vital that we evaluate your situation and physical condition…"

"You mean find out if I've lost my mind, don't you, General? I see you sent the honey trap expert as a foil to the Colonel's usual brevity and heavy handedness."

Beckman seemed momentarily distressed and then grew pensive. She made a few keystrokes and he saw a request pending to accept a downloaded file.

"I'm sending you something I'm not very proud of. As you pointed out, I frequently do the right things for the morally wrong reasons. Look at the file I sent you and you may reevaluate your position. Considering that Agent Walker is currently using you as a pillow I'm sure you'll reconsider your 'bunker demand' as well. I'll speak with you again in the morning. Sleep well, Agent Drake."

* * *

It was a large file and took several minutes to load. He was momentarily distracted when Sarah murmured in her sleep and changed position, turning on her side and moving a leg over his and letting her hand slip down under the sheet until it was almost in danger of upsetting - the laptop. He lost his train of thought as she began to quietly snore and run her fingertips across his abdomen in an unpredictable pattern.

The file finished loading and executed. It was a surveillance file from Beckman's office. He saw General Beckman and a tired looking Sam Walker. And Daniel Shaw. He turned down the volume.

He saw Shaw grimace at the General and go leaving Beckman and Walker alone.

"_Agent Walker, your conduct in the past few months has been under close review and scrutiny. I thought that after the 49-B assessment and its aftermath your relationship with the asset might have been more supportive and beneficial. He's quite special, Agent, and he needs a special person beside him to guide him and support him. Do you think you're still that special person, the one he thought you were until…Shaw wormed his way into the mix? An honest answer, please. Time is short and I have a very full schedule."_

"_What difference does it make, General? I'm here, he's there. And Shaw seems to be my new partner. So, what difference does it make if I still feel he's the one…I mean, that I can be what he needs to accomplish the missions?"_

"_You're wearing Natalie's bracelet. Do you know what it means, Agent Walker? It's more than just a pretty thing, you know. Steve gave it to her and together they added charms to celebrate and mark events in their lives. If you're not the one, then why are you wearing it?"_

"_It's a symbol, a token, a promise. There was supposed to be some much more but he just had to download the damned 2.0 and be the hero he thought I needed. It all went to shit after that. He wouldn't run with me. He flunked spy school. He was all I ever wanted but now…I just don't know anymore, General. I'm sorry if that's the wrong answer but it's the truth. He taught me that. The truth."_

"_I see. Well, that is all. Good luck on your new assignment, Agent. Things have a way of working out and what should be – usually is."_

He saw Sam Walker turn and start to leave and almost heard her ragged sigh.

"_I love Charles Bartowski, General. But I made mistakes. He made mistakes. We made mistakes. I tried to do my duty. I drove him away time after time and still he managed to get by all my defenses and he loved me, General, after all I did. And I betrayed that unconditional love and trust with one word, General, just one word."_

Beckman looked at her expectantly.

"_I want back on the Team, General. Please. I'll do anything to get back to the Team and him. I'll even put up with Shaw until you find a suitable replacement but please, reconsider this assignment."_

"_That'll be all, Agent. Good day." _

And Chuck knew the truth. And the truth does set ye free.

He closed the laptop and set it aside, succumbing to the call of nature. He slipped on boxers, took care of business and then walked out the back door and sat on the stoop and smoked a cigarette. He needed to rethink his plan.

He needed a new module in his scenario. He was running out of time. The bunker had been a red herring only for Casey, something to throw him off the scent in the short term. Ever since his physical, he created 'issues' to distract them.

* * *

_**A/N: All is not well. Don't assume. **_


	22. The Hicky The Guilt and Those Mae Wests

NoMoreNextTimes21

A/N: OK, moving right along to the stunning conclusion in a few more chapters. I know where I want to go with this. Hell, I've been there. The place, not the condition, dimbulbs. APR

* * *

The intersect team stumbled onto the problem after the first volunteers either died in the chair or became gibbering idiots, dying within hours or days of the download. Not one of them lived more than 30 days.

The human brain has about 100 billion brain cells called neurons and almost one trillion cells that support the neurons. These are called glia.

The neurologists discovered that those volunteers who'd died immediately did so from a complete failure of the glia and the almost instantaneous dissolution of the insulation surrounding the neurons, a substance called myelin. The neurons 'shorted out' and the autonomic system went into massive cascade failure resulting in death by suffocation – the heart quit beating and the lungs quit expanding and contracting.

Those who survived seemed to have a more resistant myelin sheathing and the neurons continued to function but at a greatly reduced capacity and effectiveness. Eventually, the myelin sheathing failed and the subjects died.

People like Chuck Bartowski were unique. His myelin sheathing remained normal and the glia apparently were unaffected.

But Chuck didn't flunk out of spy school. He failed the physical. His myelin sheathing was slowly breaking down and his neurons and glia were dying at an increased rate because of the 2.0 download. Who knew a CT scan would prove to be his undoing?

When Beckman learned of this she immediately sent Chuck home to live out his life as 'normally' and as fully as possible. Even Beckman had a heart.

* * *

Things didn't go that way and Chuck managed to get back on board despite the reception he received from his former handlers. He knew that every flash, every download refresher, brought him a little closer to the tipping point when enough of his neurons and glia became compromised that he'd begin the slow slide to a lingering death. But he didn't care. He got to spend time with his precious Sarah, even though she seemed to hate the very sight of him in Burbank only 'warming' to him after Shaw came on the scene.

The reason Chuck had demanded that he be 'bunkerized' earlier in the month and never work with anyone he'd known 'from before' was because he'd reached the 'tipping point'. The neurologists had hypothesized that he'd decline gradually and irreversibly to a vegetative state and then die. He didn't want anyone he knew to see him drooling and unable to care for himself. He'd planned to be long gone before that happened.

Beckman had been concerned enough that she'd commissioned a group of neurological researchers 'off the books' to investigate and solve the problem. There was too much money tied up in the Omaha Project to allow it to be abandoned. She gave periodic updates to Chuck on their progress, always assuring him that a breakthru was imminent.

* * *

**Marathon Air/Sea Training Center  
****VOQ  
****Marathon, FL**

And now that he had it all, the girl of his dreams and a job partnership, it was turning to crap.

He looked at his hand, trembling and almost unable to maintain a grasp on his cigarette. One of the early signs. Another was his memory. When he first learned of this he'd set up a test he performed faithfully every Sunday morning. He'd written a computer program to ask questions and compare his answers to a base line key he'd established when he wrote the program. He'd scored in the 99th percentile consistently until Shaw showed up and it was like his appearance triggered a deterioration.

He watched his scores slowly drop from 99 to 97 and then to 96. He couldn't remember things from his elementary school days like teachers and friends. His cognitive skills still ranked in the 98th percentile but personal memory scores deteriorated.

Deena had commented once that her 'Encyclopedia Man' didn't know everything when he couldn't remember people the names of some people they'd met in their travels just a few months prior. He just laughed it off and so did she but that night his test score dropped to 95 and the occasional hand tremors started.

That night while Deena slept and dreamed of impossible futures Chuck had opened his test program and set up a parallel base line and then compared the two. Percentage-wise it was a small drop. But it was a geometric progression and so he started making plans.

Sarah. He wished she'd stayed away. _How_, he'd asked himself a million times, even with Deena, _how could I put someone I love through a lifetime of_…_this_? _This_ was the dwindling mental capacity of one Charles Bartowski aka Carmichael, aka Drake. His numbers were holding but it wouldn't last. He felt…less.

* * *

"Hey, handsome, you really need to quit smoking. I want all 50 years, Chuck. I woke up and you were gone and I got worried. You know something?"

"I know a lot of things, Blondie. What is it you wish to have explained to you?" He laughed. She'd better ask her questions while he could still form answers.

"Hey, knock off the 'Blondie' crap. I can be a brunette by noon if you'd prefer one."

"Nah. I prefer blondes. One in particular. Maybe you know her? Tall, lithe, dynamic figure, stunning smile, eyes like blue fire, long gorgeous hair and legs…oh, my, they go all the way up to her butt."

She hugged him tightly, nibbling at his ear. "What I wanted to ask you was…well…Chuck, you haven't kissed me. At least not outside the cover, and baby, we are sooo outside the cover here."

"Help me up and I'll correct that oversight. Sarah, I love you, don't ever doubt that for one single second. No matter what has happened and what might happen, you, Sarah, are the only thing in my life that I would never change."

She squeezed him tightly, so completely happy for the first time since…since she couldn't remember. "Baby, c'mon inside. The mosquitoes will soon find us and I have other kinds of itches I want to scratch." She giggled and helped him up and then pulled him to their bed. They couldn't make love but they did make out like horny teenagers.

* * *

**Marathon Air/Sea Training Center  
****Marathon, FL**

_**BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!**_

Chuck rolls over Sarah, shielding her naked body with his own while he fumbles with his pants, not to put them on but to pull them clear of the 9mm he's left on the bedside table. The door shakes as Casey pounds on it, taking out his frustrations with Chuck on the steel-cored metal door.

"Walker, wake up! He's gone. You're crazy-assed boyfriend has given us the slip – again – damn it, Walker!

**_BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!_**

Sarah's laughing so hard she almost doesn't make it to the lavatory. She comes out, kisses Chuck, pushes his pistol aside so that she's not in his line of fire and wraps herself loosely in the sheet.

She opens the door wide and brazenly lets a bit of the sheet slip letting Casey know she's naked but not showing anything…important.

"Chuck's gone! His car's still here so I don't know how he left. Let's move it, CIA. If he's on foot, we'll catch him. I've ordered the 7-Mile Bridge blocked and a vehicle-by-vehicle search made."

"First of all, Colonel, it's 7:30 in the morning, a Saturday, by the way. Secondly, it's my car, not his. He just 'borrowed' it in L.A. And lastly, he's in the can, Casey, and he almost gave you a 9mm belly button for banging on the damned door. You should learn to knock, Colonel, or use the phone. He's here, with me. Why the panic?"

Madison is standing behind Casey looking around him and grinning. She catches Sarah's eye and winks then nudges Casey.

"C'mon, old man, you got $20 of mine I want back. They were in _her_ bed, not his. The devil is in the details. Let's leave them alone for a while."

Sarah sees something and launches her retaliatory assault. "Casey, your neck! My God, a…a…a hickey?" She dissolves in laughter and Casey quickly follows Madison and her laughter out of the VOQ and into the parking lot.

Chuck reaches over her shoulder and closes the door and locks it. "Sarah, let's get dressed and have breakfast. We need to talk, OK?"

"Fine. Put on something that looks like vacation clothes so we don't stand out and I'll see what I have. I was on my way to my new assignment, well, taking leave there first, when I ran into Casey. I got casuals for days."

* * *

They walked the short distance to the business district, holding hands like young tourists in love. They ate a leisurely breakfast, talking about everything from Casey's neck to her recent medical scare.

"But you're OK, right, Sarah? Nothing's wrong? I mean, it's not… life-threatening is it? You'd tell me, wouldn't you?"

"Chuck, no secrets between us. It was benign but I will have to have a check-up twice a year now. I'm fine. Honest, sweetie, I wouldn't lie to you about that just like you wouldn't lie to me." Hands joined across the small table , fingers intertwined, a silent 'together' without the hint of cover or reticence on either part.

He felt guilty but didn't say anything, just pushed his eggs around, suddenly not hungry.

"Chuck, what's wrong? Have I said something to upset you?"

"No, you've said all the right things. I just…Sarah, life is short. Too short, really, and a lot can happen in this business we're in. We just got ourselves straightened out and I don't want to waste any time."

"Casey's going into Admin but he doesn't know it yet. Beckman wants him as her new Chief of Staff. He'll make full bird a lot quicker and might even end up with a star and Beckman's job. How would you feel about me asking Beckman to partner us?"

"Yes. I want that, too. And more, someday, when the Ring is done. I want to quit being a field agent and settle down and have the normal life those people we protect have. Yes, ask her. Do you think she'll say yes?" Sarah wanted to spend her last days as an agent with her man.

He remembered Beckman's voice from the surveillance tape. _'__Things have a way of working out and what should be – usually is.'_

"Yeah, I think so. I'll just tell her I won't go solo any longer unless I know the agent and I know you and trust you." Unspoken was '_and I love you_.'

* * *

It was nearly 10:30 when they walked back onto the base and into Mako's office. Chuck deliberately allowed the screen door to slam shut, knowing it would bring out the 'best' in Maureen. Sarah was startled by the 'bang' of the door and clutched at Chuck in surprise and reached for her weapon.

'_I'm not his handler any more. And he's more than proven he can handle himself…oh, that's right, I love him and I've got his back for good now…' _

She mentally chided herself for losing focus.

"Shhh, listen, Sarah."

"Who the hell is slamming my screen door?"

Sarah suppressed an unprofessional giggle when a slightly disheveled Maureen Madison opened her office door and strode out into the yeoman's office closing her door soundly.

"Oh, it's you two. Well, Chuck, I suppose you're taking off then? Your two handlers taking you back to Durance Vile?"

"Um, Mako, adjust your gig line and stow your Mae West's properly… we'll come back in an hour or so…" Chuck's ears were red and Mako suddenly realized that her cut off Navy dungarees were unzipped and her bikini top slightly askew. Mae Wests, indeed!

"No, you've done your damage, I'm sure you came to talk about stealing my one of my boats? That was where the last 'professional' conversation we had left off. And I'm sure you don't object to ample endowments, do ya, Chuck?" She teased back, comfortable with him and his new handler, but wondering if Casey would share her ease.

"Nah, we'll just take a walk down along the shore, give you another hour or so to finish up your…taskings. Then, Master Chief, I would like to take you up on your offer of a diver and a competent boat driver. Any one around here you can spare? Someone… competent?"

Her eyes narrowed and Chuck thought he heard the _Jaws _theme and he pulled Sarah by the arm out of the office before he totally lost it. He made it to the sidewalk before succumbing to laughter.

"Chuck, you really shouldn't have…" was all she got out before she started laughing right along with him. Mae Wests…none of the men in her life were breast-fed apparently but she wondered how he felt about hers in comparison. She was only human and last night had been the first time they'd been naked together. He hadn't complained and he paid them sufficient attention for her to know he appreciated her assets but still…

Astute as he was, he read her facial expression and put his arm around her pulling her close and whispering "Sweetheart, anything more than a handful is superfluous. You're perfect, and I'll demonstrate my appreciation of your perfection much later." Eyebrow dance commenced with mixed reviews.

"I'll hold you to that, and thank you, but you do have _big hands_, Chuck. Sometimes I forget to say it but I think you're pretty awesome yourself, big boy." Her flirting smile made his stomach tighten and sent blood south.

* * *

A/N: Awww… enough sap for the Charahns? It won't last long. Bitter dregs.


	23. Confrontations and Conflict Resolution

NoMoreNextTimes22

A/N: This is NOT a death fic so no flames, letterbombs, cries of anguish and betrayal. This portion is an 'interlude' leading up to the concluding chapters. Think of it as a preview of coming attractions.

APR

**The mind goes back but time goes on and goodbyes should be forever – Robert Heinlein 1946**

* * *

They walked down to Marathon City enjoying each other's company, not saying a damned thing to each other. It was perfect synchronicity. Sarah broke the comfortable silence and asked Chuck the question he didn't want to answer.

"Chuck, why are you here, in Marathon, at the Training Center?"

"I just wanted to see those bodacious tatas once again, Sar…OUCH! What was that for?"

"As if you didn't know. Now, seriously, _Agent Drake_, what business brought you to Marathon Training Center?"

"I have a lead on the executives that head up the Ring. I wanted to follow up on it. I needed a boat and a trustworthy boat driver who could handle themselves if things got hairy and would follow commands…and wouldn't have any connection, um, emotional connection to me, other than…um, friendship or a past working relationship."

"OK, trust, competence and experience. That makes sense but why the 'connection' caveat?"

"Less hassles for everyone all around. The mission profile required an immediate termination of action and return to port on the part of the boat and driver since the US Navy couldn't be officially linked to anything like the mission if it hit the fan."

"You mean 'leave you behind' in layman's terms, right, _Agent Drake_?" She was getting mad.

"Yes, Agent Walker, that is exactly what I meant. So, Agent, let's drop 'Chuck & Sarah' off here and talk reality. It's a straight infiltration of an enemy-held beach area where the landing might be…heavily opposed. The people I enlist would have to have plausible deniability in the event it all turned to crap."

"And leave you behind on the beach, right? Isn't that what you meant? And people who don't have an emotional tie or investment will do that, right, _Agent Drake_?"

"Yes, Agent Walker, that's it, exactly. It's something Beckman taught me: keep a distance so it you have to hurt them, it won't hurt you so bad." She reared back and slapped him – hard. He was stunned for less than a second and then he lunged, hugging her to him, pinning her arms. His whisper was harsh in her ear.

"Stop. If you ever hit me again, ever, it'll be six weeks before you can use that arm. I put up with crap like this my whole life but _no more_, understand me, Agent Walker?"

Equally as harsh is her whispered response. "Let me go, damn you, let - me – go! Don't touch me!"

"Go back to the base, Agent Walker. You and Casey have done your duty. When you report to Beckman, tell her it's at 90 and accelerating. She'll understand. Now, be gone." He released her and walked rapidly away, heading down town to the public marina. He didn't hear her anguished "Chuck!" He was focused on the mission.

* * *

He had things to do and now he had less time to do them. They would threaten Mako and she'd renege on her offer of driver and boat. He had to find another boat. Maybe the intersect could help him with the navigation and actual operation. He could sail but the intricacies of a large powerboat were unknown territory to him.

Chuck walked along the piers on the harbor and after 2 long and hot hours had found 3 boats with 'For Hire' signs on them and 2 with 'For Sale or Lease' signs. The economy was taking a toll even among the rich and shameless. He'd made up a mental list of requirements such as speed, distance, durability and cost and had eliminated 3 of the 5.

He was cutting between two motorized yachts on yard skids to the marina office when someone grabbed him from behind and spun him around against the fiberglass hull and began kissing him hungrily. It happened so suddenly that he really didn't know who'd grabbed him. His mind and his attention had been fixed on mission preparation. He started to push his assailant away when he focused on blonde hair.

"Don't you **ever** send me away again. We belong together and that's how we're going to stay, right up until the end, together. I don't care; we're in this together. Never apart. Ever." From her near-hysterical whisperings he knew she'd reported in to Beckman and that the General, for whatever reason, had spilled her guts to the two agents.

"Sarah, don't. Please. Don't cry. You're killing me here, Sarah. Please stop crying." He could never handle her tears. He had only wanted to spare her the anguish of watching him become a mindless thing.

He dreaded returning to the base. He should have left early this morning while Sarah was still asleep, long before Casey was up. He'd have been somewhere in Florida by now but no closer to launching the mission than he was now. He really didn't have time for any emotional crap until the mission was lined out and scheduled.

* * *

Chuck deliberately let the screen door to Mako's office slam figuring he could judge the 'climate' by her response. Nothing. Maybe she was out with Casey sucking face or working on a tan but no such luck. She and Casey were sitting around Casey's laptop discussing something with Beckman the betrayer.

The image of Diane Beckman leaned back in her chair and waited. Casey glanced up at Chuck and then at Sarah and got up and motioned Sarah to take his seat. Mako Madison got up and walked out of the office following Casey, letting her hand trail across Chuck's shoulder. Shit.

He sat down heavily and sighed and looked at the General with something akin to wry amusement. "Been telling tales out of school, General?" Sarah reached over and took his hand in hers, squeezing it gently in admonishment.

"Agent Drake…Chuck. They have the right to know. This will be your last mission…as a team. Send me your mission outline and I'll review it and see what support I can muster. We're not well-represented in that part of the world."

"That's why it's a solo mission. One man slips in, kills them all, slips out and hopefully swim outs to transportation. Anything more is clunky and not necessary and will just gum up the works. One man can do it. An army would just be in the way."

"Cole Barker is on his way down to Marathon. He's the Queen's Representative for the mission since it's in British territory. He has to sign off on it. He'll fly to the Bahamas and inform the local governor…"

"…Who is in the Ring's pocket. Doesn't anyone read my reports? I sent you the accounts and payment information from the Savannah files. The top echelon is receiving bribe payments from the Ring for unrestricted access to their little island paradise."

"Agent Barker will handle that problem. Chuck, the myelin team has developed some synthetics that are quite promising. There is still hope. They're making great progress. The next time you come in for a physical and update they'll discuss possible applications."

"No more next times, General. No more refreshers. No more sunglasses. No more physicals. Won't matter soon, any way, you know that."

"Send me your mission proposal and quit being so damned pessimistic and fatalistic. You have a future; don't throw it all away on some foolhardy stunt. Email me the outline." She disconnected.

Sarah stood up and pulled him by the hand she still hadn't released.

"C'mon, big boy, we have a mission to plan and outline and then we're going to talk. Not yell at each other. Not hurt each other anymore. We're past that and it's a waste of time, precious time. The others are waiting in the Ops Building and Cole will be here in four hours and we should have something tangible for him to review."

* * *

APR


	24. Various Methods of Suicide

NoMoreNextTimes23

* * *

The tension in the Center's Ops Room was so thick that Sarah felt that she had to push herself into the room after leaving to use the lavatory after drinking too much coffee during the past 2 hours. Chuck's presentation and outline were audacious and cunning and suicidal. She knew, instantly, that suicide had been his intent when he devised his op plan. He was resisting any attempt by any of them to change it.

"I think we all need a break. C'mon, baby, let's walk off some of this tension. We're all here for the same reason and we're all after the same objective. I'll even let you smoke one of those disgusting cigarettes…"

When Chuck and Sarah left to walk around and talk, Mako turned to Casey and asked, "Is it always like this when the team plans an operation?"

"No, usually it's cut and dried. We've never faced this big of a challenge before or been on such a tight time line. His plan is sound. It's Walker who's objecting. She knows how the odds are stacked. She can't be with him and it's killing her."

"You can't make the swim either, John, broken toes aside. You don't have the stamina, not at your age. And don't give me that look. It's true. I'm talking to you as a diver not as your 'woman friend'. Chuck can handle it with the rebreather, you can't John. Trust me. I'd down-check you in a heartbeat if you were in training."

"Yeah, I know. So he goes alone. It's damned risky, Maureen."

"Not if I go with him, John. I've been around the block. I actually ran a mission very similar to this in Grenada, got in and out, undetected."

In the shade of the building, Sarah tried to talk some sense into Chuck; at least she thought it was sense. "Honey, it's a good plan but I can't let you go in there alone without backup. I just can't. I'm sorry. I'm being selfish and unprofessional and emotional and…"

A lingering kiss stopped her ramblings and brought her back to reality. "Shhh. You love me. You're afraid for me. I get that. But if we can take out the Ring Executive after smashing their infrastructure, we'll have set them back years. It's the right thing to do for all the right reasons. Please don't throw up any more roadblocks, Sarah. Support me, have my back, find the small details I've overlooked or discarded. You've done this a lot more than I have and I need your expertise on this."

"I'd feel a lot better if I was beside you swimming up to that beach. The intersect can provide information, Chuck, but I can watch your butt, baby, and make sure you're covered. At least take Casey with you, Chuck. Or Mako."

"The last time I did something like this was Savannah. I didn't care if I came back. This time I do. This time I'm coming back to you, Sarah, and to all our tomorrows, no matter how few."

"Chuck, promise me you'll go to Meade when this is over. Beckman said they had some treatment, some kind of implant that could help you. She told us it was highly experimental but Chuck it might give us more time. Take the chance, baby, for us. I know you're scared, I'm terrified, but we have to grasp at any straws. I'm not ready to lose you. I want my damned 50 years, Chuck!"

"OK. I'll go to Beckman after the mission. And you're right. I'm afraid. Terrified. Scared to death. I wake up at night and start doing math in my head or try to remember faces, names…I can't remember what my mother looked like. I can't remember some of my teachers. I can't remember Ellie's face when she was younger. What happens when I can't remember you?"

"I'll just have to remind you every morning when you wake up who you've been sleeping with, baby. And I'll be with you every minute of every day so don't worry about that. Worry about getting back from the mission. That's the most important thing right now. Getting back to me."

"Let's get this done. I have a hot date with a cool blonde and then a trip to DC."

Cole Barker torpedoed the plan as too risky and too public. He said that Her Majesty's government didn't want a tourist attraction turning into murder central. It was bad for business.

"Perhaps, Chuck, you could come up with something a little less…flamboyant? Something less destructive and, dare I say, a bit more subtle? Blowing up a hotel to cover your assassinations seems excessive."

"According to our intel, the hotel hasn't had a guest since it was acquired by Pallas Adventures Ltd over a year ago. There are extensive satellite communications links and the airfield has been lengthened to allow larger business jet aircraft to land and take off but not one aircraft has landed. There hasn't been a single charter or ferry docking at the wharf at Spanish Shoals in the same timeframe." Casey had never liked the Limey and his recitation of facts seemed to underline that fact.

Cole saw how Chuck's eyes had tightened when he used words like 'flamboyant' and 'excessive'. Perhaps he had poured it on a little thick but he believed in a more subtle approach to problems such as this one.

"Your facts are correct, Colonel, except that the hotel is not being used as a hotel but rather as a marine research institute studying the marine ecosystem of the Outer Islands and is attempting to increase aquaculture in the area. There have been numerous visitations by motor yachts anchoring offshore, yachts belonging to the institute. These yachts, the _Vespers_ 2, 3, and 4, have been bringing supplies and researchers to and from the main research installation. They use Zodiacs to ferry personnel and supplies back and forth.

Maureen spoke up. "Did you say _Vesper_, Agent Cole?" She automatically disliked the abrasive and oily Brit. He sounded condescending and dismissive, two qualities she hated with a passion. And he kept undressing her with his eyes, something she definitely disapproved of by any man except with 'prior approval'.

"Yes, why? No one seems to know what happened to _Vesper 1_, or just plain _Vesper_. Perhaps it was retired or is in use elsewhere."

"I sank it with naval gunfire after its crew tried to kidnap and then murder one of my trainees. The two survivors admitted to being employed by the Ring. I'm not supposed to know, but I helped in their interrogation." She didn't mention the scuttling charges, ignoring them for the time being.

"Chuck?" Sarah reached over and took his hand, looking at him, her expression asking for confirmation that it was him who'd been the 'trainee'.

"I only saw the _Vesper_ from a distance although I did take a digital photo of it. I was in the dispensary after that getting stitched up. Rico came and picked me up shortly thereafter. I'm sure Mako's right, though."

"Oh, I'm definitely right, 'trainee'. I personally dived the hulk and brought up their logs, registry and a team brought up the ship's safe. And I don't think a 'research vessel' would come equipped with scuttling charges, do you, Agent Cole?"

"So, Agent Cole, any other surprises up the sleeve of Her Majesty's Representative?" Casey could snark with the best of them.

"You do know about the underwater facility, don't you? It's located at the base of the cliff below the hotel and is connected via tunnels. It's where the research is done using submersibles."

"Shit." Chuck's word was the last said for a few minutes as each of the team mulled this over.

"Let's break for dinner. We'll meet here again in two hours. Casey, before you go with Mako, please ask the General for any updates and also if there's a submarine in the area?"

"Submarine, Chuck?" Casey was curious but almost afraid to ask.

"Yeah. Always wanted to ride in one."

"Sarah and I have to talk about some things or I'd ask you to join us, Cole. I'm still concerned about security in the Bahamas. Ring's got the upper crust in the bag."

"I'm off in an hour. I'll be in touch and I'll take care of the upper crust. Email me your final plan. Try not to sink the damned island, Drake!"

They went into Mako's office and Chuck called and ordered a pizza for pick up and then asked Sarah to drive them there to pick it up.

"I thought you wanted to talk, Chuck? That's what you told Cole." His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly but she saw it immediately. She watched him constantly since Beckman's 'bean spilling' and she didn't know why.

'_Yes, you do. You're looking at him, trying to see changes, anything that might have given you a hint that he was…that he was losing his edge…dying by degrees while you held him off, at bay, made excuses you now wish you'd allowed to die stillborn. Admit it, Sarah, you feel guilty for not loving him in Burbank, for allowing that – that – that dildo Shaw to have sex with you. Chuck would have made love, Dildo screwed you. Surprised you didn't get splinters.'_

'_Enough. Yeah, guilty and thankful and loved and wanted and adored and I want to spend every conscious minute watching him, appreciating him and letting him know how much I love him. Anything wrong with that?"_

'_Nope. Shoulda done that in Burbank.'_

"Chuck, Cole's history. Bad experience. Written off to heat of the moment stuff. You have nothing, absolutely _nothing_ to worry about. I got the only guy I've ever wanted to…spend the rest of time with. So, let's talk."

"Nope. Drive. Pizza. Then we'll eat and talk, and have some 'us' time."

"Chuck, we only have two hours."

"I can have you screaming in 20 minutes." His hooded eyes grew predatory and her nipples tightened oh so harshly against her bra and she leaned over and sucked his lower lip into her mouth and nibbled, running her tongue across it as she heard him growl.

"I can't wait. Hurry up. Pizza and then some serious 'us'time…twenty minutes? I'm ready to scream right this minute, this second. I don't care what the doctors say, I will have wild hot monkey sex with you, my lover, and we'll see who screams first."

"Not going to happen. Not tonight, anyway. I want you healthy for those fifty years, Sarah. And the doctors went to med school, you went to spy school. Who's the better judge?"

"About this? I am, definitely."

* * *

_A/N: Short but I'm not in the mood for more tonight. Sorry. If I write more, you'll be sorry and so will I._

_APR_


	25. No Flowers for Algernon

NoMoreNextTimes24

A/N: I'm going into the city tomorrow morning to spend some time with the lady doing wedding crap and I'll be there until Friday. I probably will be able to dump another chapter but who knows? APT

* * *

There were no more arguments. Sarah had agreed and now backed the original plan after reviewing all the possible alternatives.

"I withdraw my objections. I will support this with Beckman." Casey shook his head and Mako just grinned and held out her hand. Casey put a folded $20 bill in her hand and mumbled something about women and then was quiet. Thoughtful. Totally un-Casey-like.

Chuck and Mako took the chart for the island, Spanish Shoals, and started planning their route into the inlet at the northern end of the pork chop-shaped island. Casey walked over behind her and gave her shoulder a squeeze.

"I know just how you feel, Sarah. Well, maybe not exactly, but close enough. Maureen's going into harm's way and I'm staying behind. Frustrating."

"Now we know how Chuck felt all those times. 'Stay in the car, Chuck'."

Casey gave a grunt that translated into 'yeah, but it's not the same'.

While the two watched, feeling left out, Chuck and Mako quietly discussed aspects of the infiltration and extraction.

"If we go in around 11pm local time the tide will help us and save us energy. If we can find a place to hole up until 5:45am," consulting a tidal chart and reexamining the chart, "and we can make our way down to the southern tip, we'll have the tides on the way out."

"Master Chief, that's 17 miles. We don't have a clue what transportation we might find or even whether we'll be able to make it that far." He grinned. "All that voluptuousness is very alluring but will make carrying you quite a task."

She popped him in the arm. "Asshole trainee".

Casey's cell chirping interrupted the easy banter that covered nerves.

He walked out to take the call and was gone a minute and then walked back into the Ops office.

"Pack it up, kiddies. The mission's been scrubbed. 'Her Majesty's representative' will not sign off on the op plan after all. Beckman wants us in DC for an 'alternative planning session' as soon as possible."

Sarah smiled and walked over and put her arm around his shoulder. "Sorry, baby. Maybe the alternative plan Beckman wants to discuss will have a higher probability of success."

"You mean less of a chance of failure, don't you, Sarah? You're getting pretty good at this bureaucratic bullshit. Damn Cole. The Ring must have gotten to him somehow. So much for Perfidious Albion."

"Um, Mako? Pack a light travel bag. Civvies only. No uniforms. Bring a dress if you have one. You're included in the 'alternate session'." Casey found it hard to imagine Maureen in a 'little black dress' and high heels. He had no problem imagining her straddling him while she rode him to ecstasy – twice the previous night. It was a memory he'd take to the grave.

"Colonel, I'm in a different chain of command and when your little Napoleon says 'jump', well, it's not going to happen. I have responsibilities here that don't include day trips to DC. And besides, I'm in command here and I've fought long and hard to get where I am. I'm not throwing it away for some spies."

John Casey had spent years learning one hard lesson: spies do not have emotional entanglements. But this little lady with her 'in your face' attitude had shattered his carefully constructed defenses by just being her normal abrasive self. He knew that no matter what he did, it would be wrong and his frustration sharpened his tongue.

"Master Chief, pack your bag, enough for two or three days. Your TraDoc CO will be in contact with you momentarily. You're not throwing anything away, Master Chief. I'm sure your little queendom will still be here when you return." He spun on his heel and stomped away, the old Casey fully and firmly in place once again.

Chuck saw the look on Mako's face and nudged her. "Casey's a hard ass, Mako. He doesn't know how to say 'please'. Don't take it personally. John Casey is stuck between the dog and the fire hydrant right now and responds the only way he knows how. Don't be too hard on him. He's adjusting pretty well to being a human being again. This is his last mission although I think he's hoping it's not. He's being moved to something bigger but out of the game."

"It's OK. I see his position. He just can't see mine. Nothing personal with that 'spies' comment, Drake. But I meant what I said. I'm not going without proper…" Her office phone range and it was her boss.

* * *

A helicopter landed and took three agents and one highly pissed-off Master Chief to Miami to catch a courier jet in Miami.

While Sarah dozed on the flight to Dulled International in Washington, Chuck opened his laptop and brought up his program that measured the degree of his regressive deterioration.

Cognitive score still hung up there at 96, still in the top 4% of the nation but his personal memory score was at 88. He's lost 2 points in a week. He felt incomplete again; empty, even though he knew it was just his imagination. Sighing, he closed the laptop and filled the time by watching his future wife sleep.

* * *

**NSA HQ  
FT Meade, MD**

The driver opened the door of the pool car for Sarah and Maureen Madison. Chuck opened his own door and then went to the trunk and retrieved Casey's crutches and gave them to him.

"Thanks. Of course, if you'd just followed instructions or told me your intentions I wouldn't be walking around on four legs instead of two."

"I always wondered how many generations it'd been since your line of humanity walked upright. Must feel almost…normal for you. Especially since they snapped off your tail at birth."

"Grrrrr!"

"And they think I'm regressing. And John, ease up on Mako. She's just as professional as you, only when she kills something it usually is in the water or she uses a cannon."

"Mind your own business, Chuck. You have what you always wanted if don't blow it. Leave Maureen Madison out of any future conversations."

"Fine. Go ahead. Be the strong NSA agent and miss out on those bodacious tatas. You're a fool, Casey. And you're not getting any younger so that makes you an _old_ fool."

"Leave it alone, Chuck. I mean it."

"Hey, no hitting the handicapped. It's bad form, Colonel." He dodged a head slap that wouldn't have landed any way. Casey just had to make the attempt for appearances sake. If he really were serious, he'd have brained him with one of his crutches.

"Agent Drake?" The driver was standing there, impatiently waiting for something.

"What? We're here, you're done. Scoot." Chuck was growing impatient. He was going to help Casey with his bag and now this 'driver'…

"You're destination is Medical, Agent. Please get back in the car. You're expected. And you're late."

"Go ahead, Chuck. I'll let them know where you've been taken, against your will. With any luck, many large-bore and very dull needles await." He knew of Chuck's aversion to needles. All the banter had been his way of dealing with his nervousness. And no one could possibly blame Chuck for being nervous. This examination could postpone or set the schedule for his death.

"Casey, tell her not to worry. I'm keeping my promise."

"Sure." Casey had the urge to hug his young protégé but manfully resisted. He knew Chuck was afraid of learning more about his 'disability' and couldn't blame him. Dying by degrees without actually dying, not pleasant at all. And his entire future was hanging on the efforts of a group of scientists who'd screwed up in the first place.

* * *

**NSA Medical  
FT Meade**

The driver escorted Chuck into the facility and waited until a covey of doctors and nurses descended on him before leaving. His instructions had been very clear.

'The man is a Houdini. He doesn't want to be here, and he doesn't want the attention of the medical community so he'll try and run. Your job is to stop him, short of actually shooting him.'

The doctors and researchers each introduced themselves and their specialty and then the group, with Chuck having no means of escape, entered the operating theater.

* * *

**NSA HQ**

"While Agent Drake is being convinced to try the experimental implant, we have other things to discuss. The Ring is still unaware of our interest in Spanish Shoals. Agent Barker was able to convince the local officials to sever relations with their Ring counterparts but not to arouse suspicion. Two of the officials were persuaded to death but the others quickly came round. Apparently MI6 is not constrained in their treatment of traitors as is the US intelligence community."

"Why was the mission scrubbed, General?" Casey asked the question they all wanted answered.

"Not scrubbed, postponed. I want all of my Team Intersect agents", giving Casey a glare and Walker a sympathetic look, "in on this. It's too important to leave to one man and woman, no matter how gifted and talented they may be." She smiled at Master Chief Madison indicating the compliment was for her.

"General, I won't be released for duty for six weeks, can it wait that long or am I being replaced on the team?" Sarah was blunt, direct and demanding. She was _not_ leaving her man. Not now, not ever.

"Agent Walker, your physicians used a traditional timeframe. You are 'good to go' as they say, in two weeks. Colonel Casey is another matter. Colonel, you have got to control your temper. Such a childish display of pique is not what I expect from a short-list full bull and my next Chief of Staff."

Casey had the good graces to look chagrined and stared at the floor for a moment before looking at the General in surprise. "Chief of Staff? General, I'm a field agent not a desk jockey."

"John, you're 41. Time to hang up the toys and get on with your career. Now, you have a choice. Take the promotion and appointment or retire effective immediately."

"What about the team? What about the mission?"

"It will be the last for both you and Agent Drake. So, what will it be, Colonel? Promotion or retirement?"

"I accept your appointment, General, effective upon completion of the mission to decimate the Ring. Acceptable to you?"

"Yes. Now, Agent Drake is being prepped for the surgery, Agent Walker. My aide will escort you to his room. He's nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs, Sarah. Calm him down and stay with him until he's back on his feet. It's minimally invasive and he'll only be out a few minutes."

* * *

**NSA Medical**

The dead security guard at the elevator was the first indication that something had gone wrong. The aide, new to the NSA, had frozen at the sight of the body. Walker looked for a panic button but opted for a quicker route.

"Beckman, secure."

"Walker. Code black at the medical center. One guard down on the 4th floor. Proceeding to the operating theater."

Klaxons began sounding and the lights went from normal to red and all exits automatically locked and all elevators were taken out of service.

"You," Sarah nudged the frozen aide, "move back down to the elevator and take the guard's weapon and secure this floor. Shoot anyone who isn't me or my team if they get past me. Do not harm Agent Drake, understand?"

Sarah hugged the wall and moved as quickly as she could. The double door to the operating theater was closed and she could see the bodies around the nurses' station. Where the hell was security?

Sarah chanced a quick look through the window of one of the double doors. She cried out in anguish and shock.

All the doctors and researchers as well as the nursing assistants were dead.

Chuck was gone!

* * *

A/N: The devil made me do it.


	26. The Dying Cabbage Gets Revenge

NoMoreNextTimes25

A/N: The final chapter.

* * *

**NSA Medical FT Meade, MD**

A quick roster check of the facility indicated that one doctor, one nurse and one Agent were missing or unaccounted for. The General ordered an immediate lockdown of the entire post but knew it was too late.

"Agent Walker? Sarah? We'll find him. We'll get him back. I'll need you on this, Sarah. Are you mission capable?" Beckman was concerned. She hadn't said a word since her report via cell phone. She just sat on the floor, her legs drawn up and her forehead resting on her knees, pistol held loosely in one hand.

"How? How can you find him? He's gone, General. G – O – N – E gone. We have no way to track him and we'd don't even know how they got him out of here. He could be halfway to wherever by now. How are we going to get him back?"

Casey limped down the hall. "Where are his clothes? Has anyone found his clothes?"

Agents began searching for Chuck's clothes. Sarah was past caring and struck out at the General. "You knew he was dying and you never said a thing to me! You knew how I felt. You knew what he meant to me and yet you lied by omission and then sent me off on a wild goose chase to investigate Shaw. Why?"

"I promised him, on my honor, not to divulge his secret until he gave me permission. When he told you to tell me '90 and accelerating' I took that as his 'permission'. As for Shaw", she sighed and looked away, "as for Shaw, that was also your own doing, although indirectly it was his, too. He told me he could never condemn someone he loved to a lifetime of loving a 'dying cabbage' so I sent you away with Shaw."

"There's no sign of his clothes. I need a GPS tracker."

"Colonel, why?" Beckman inquired.

"Because after Walker's boyfriend pulled his disappearing act at Rico's, I promised myself that if I came upon him again I was going to load his ass full of homers. His phone, wallet, watch, shoes and belt all have GPS homing devices in them. I figure they dressed him and hauled him out via truck or van. The gate guard would have suspected something if a naked man was being taken off post."

Sarah leaped up and grabbed Casey and hugged him and then ran off to get a GPS tracker.

Forty-five minutes later the group was standing in the NSA Ops Center watching a video display of units closing in on the GPS locator. Using Doppler tracking homers enabled them to determine the speed, altitude and location of the target. It had been traveling at approximately 130kts at an altitude varying between 200 and 700 feet and it was currently stationary off Sparrow's Point in the Baltimore Outer Harbor area. It was pretty obvious that the aircraft was a helicopter.

A technician interrupted them. "General, something's not right. According to the GPS, the target is stationary at sea level about a half mile off shore. Either they've gone down at sea or they've _landed_!"

"Alert the Coast Guard to a possible aircraft down at sea. Provide the coordinates. Order our units to converge and make the capture. I want our agent back here as quickly as possible. Have the back up medical team on standby." She pointed to one of the technical analysts and pointed to her office.

"General, wait! The Doppler indicates it's below sea level, and dropping fast. I think the aircraft is sinking, ma'am."

Sarah gave a little whimper and Mako Madison gave her a reassuring nudge. "I trained him well, Sarah. He'll make it out. He'll be back here before you know it."

"Ma'am, the signal was lost at a depth of 50 feet. Either the pressure disabled the devices or its too deep to get a signal out from that depth. I've lost it."

"Request Navy divers to assist in raising the aircraft. I want answers. How could someone infiltrate this base and snatch our agent? The extraction was too tight to be an off-the-cuff operation."

Another tech interrupted the General's tirade. "General, I've got a bogie on radar proceeding towards land about a half mile from the 'crash site'. Its profile matches a helicopter."

"They wouldn't go to all this trouble just to snatch Drake and then dump him out at sea. It makes no sense. They could have killed him when they took out the operating room team." Casey was angry and worried, not a good combination.

"Unless he jumped from the chopper, Colonel, rather than be taken. It would be like him to…not want to be taken. But where were they going in the first place?"

"General, Chuck wouldn't jump. There's no point to this whole exercise unless the helicopter was meeting another craft. And since there's nothing on radar…it's a damned submarine! That's why the signal was lost. Between the hull and the depth, no signal. They lowered him from the chopper and then the sub submerged." Mako Madison was certain it was a submarine. She wasn't ready to lose her 'trainee' any time soon.

"Cole said the Ring used 'submersibles' for resupply and personnel transfers. We all thought they meant those dinky little things like SCUBA divers use or a bathyscaphe for research. They've got a submarine capable of long voyages, General. Probably picked one up from the Russians when they had their naval 'fire sale' years ago."

"Check with Naval Intelligence. Find out if Pallas Adventures purchased a submarine. It's a long shot but hell, this whole thing is just weird enough to fit the bill."

The response from ONI was not encouraging. The Russian Federation had leased a laid-up Kilo to Pallas Exploration LTD in 2007 for use as a 'research platform'. The lease included full training for the peacetime crew complement of 37. The sub had been modified to carry cargo or passengers by removing the torpedo tubes and other offensive weaponry. The diesel-electric submarine was refitted and Pallas Exploration took possession in late 2007.

General Beckman contacted her liaison with the Intelligence Committee and the Committee instructed the Navy to intercept and force the submarine to the surface. If that proved impossible, orders were given to sink it in international waters.

She did not inform the team of the Committee's decision.

* * *

**Off the coast of Virginia  
****Depth: 150 meters  
****Speed: 8kts**

The former Soviet Navy submarine B-417 was following the continental shelf cruising to its 'homeport' of Spanish Shoals. Barring any unforeseen events or difficulties, they would arrive at the island in 8 days.

The extraction had gone according to plan and the subject was sedated for the trip. No one wanted a pissed off NSA agent loose on an old submarine. The plan called for a rendezvous off the Florida coast in 4 days where they would hand over their passenger to Ring agents for the final leg of his journey to Spanish Shoals.

The sub dived to a cruise depth of 300 meters and slipped beneath a thermocline layer and easily slipped past the naval cordon. They were on schedule to make the rendezvous as planned.

* * *

**NAS HQ  
****FT Meade, MD**

The ONI notified General Beckman that a Kilo-class submarine was intercepted and destroyed off the coast of Florida. Debris recovered after a series of ASROC attacks by the Frigate Asbbrey Fitch identified the submarine as the B-417 leased by the Russian Federation Navy to Pallas Exploration LTD.

There were no survivors or bodies recovered.

General Beckman called the team together and made her announcement. She also ordered them to prepare an assault plan on Spanish Shoals to eliminate the Ring operation. She dismissed the team but asked Sarah Walker to remain behind for a 'personal moment'.

"Ag- Sarah, I'm terribly sorry for you loss. We will all miss him, some more than others. After the operation at Spanish Shoals is completed, you'll be released to your original assignment in Jamaica. He was very special, Sarah, and for what it's worth, he loved you very much."

Sarah sat stone-faced throughout the 'personal moment' and then nodded and walked out of the office when the General had dismissed her.

"Sarah, we're both so sorry for your loss. He was…special in so many ways. John and I…"

"Enough. There'll be time to mourn later. We have an op to plan, a mission to run, and Ring traitors to kill. Let's get busy." Sarah Walker, the woman who loved and cherished Chuck was gone, replaced by Agent Sarah Walker, stone cold killer and assassin. _'Never again. No one ever gets close. Never again.'_

* * *

**Spanish Shoals  
****Ring HQ – Western Hemisphere**

"After your rendezvous with the B-417 it was sunk by a Navy frigate. You lucked out. I assume your arrival will be as planned – after dark on the 17th?"

"Yes, Palace. The cargo has been repackaged and we will offload to your submersible or zodiac as planned. We plan on doing so at high tide and then be well away from Spanish Shoals when the next American Keyhole satellite makes its pass."

"Excellent. Pallas out."

Eve Pallas nodded to the communications tech and then walked back to her quarters. Soon they would be able to drop their façade and step out into the light. The world was changing and she and her fellow Executives were helping shape and mold the New World Order. The intersect would enable them to leap ahead of their plans while leaving the surviving intelligence services of the democracies scratching their collective asses trying to figure out what went wrong.

* * *

**Eleuthera, Bahamas  
Rally Point**

Seven days. It had taken seven days to organize, collect and equip the force necessary to 'invade' Spanish Shoals and kill or capture any personnel while minimizing damage to structures and computer equipment. Beckman's orders had been very specific.

"Your objective is to kill or capture the entire complement of Ring personnel on the island while minimizing damage to infrastructure – especially any computer or communications equipment."

Two Pave-Low Stealth helicopters carried teams to the northern and southern points of the 7-mile long, 800 yard-wide island east of and just over the horizon from Eleuthera, in the Outer Islands.

A section of Navy divers, led by Master Chief Madison were tasked with disabling any surface craft or submersibles to keep the rats from escaping the trap.

It was all totally unnecessary.

* * *

**Spanish Shoals  
****Pallas Adventures LTD**

The hotel portion of the facility was abandoned. There were signs of attempts to destroy records and computer workstations but most were just that, attempts. Thermite obviously had been high on their list of self-destruct tools but only one office occupant had successfully used one. The filing cabinets of the office marked 'Human Resources' were melted slag and any contents would have been reduced to ash.

Whatever happened here had happened not long ago since the melted steel was still too hot to touch.

The teams met in an area that would have once been a large restaurant and ballroom facility but now filled with computer terminals, plasma wall monitors and administrative offices. All the monitors were black and the terminals off-line. The main computer system was down.

Walker sent the tech reps on her team to salvage what they could from the main computer and servers while the rest of the team continued searching the level.

They came upon detention/holding cells, four in all, and one showed signs of recent occupancy. They'd found the first body.

IV stands, monitors and a tray table flanked the hospital bed. There was a man's watch, wallet and a cell phone on the small table. The sheets were bloody. A woman, dressed in scrubs, lay on the floor, her throat cut from ear to ear. Sarah gasped. "Casey, they're Chuck's watch and wallet."

She picked up the cell phone and hit the number one speed dial. Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She showed the caller ID to Casey who just nodded. She tamped down her emotions. This was not the time or place for it. _'Later. Later I'll fall apart. Not here and not now.'_

"We'll find him, Sarah. He's here, somewhere." Casey was sure they'd find his body. Something was off in this entire scene.

Casey pushed in on his ear bud. "C'mon. Maureen's breached the moon pool. All the mini-subs and research craft are accounted for but one. She's moving this way, but she's found five bodies behind a barricade. Someone came from this side toward the moon pool and herded all the agents to one location and then killed them. Empty magazines and shell casings indicate a hell of a fight."

They carefully advanced down the corridor that ended in a 'T'. They split their team and again advanced, weapons ready. The corridor was lined with glass-fronted labs, all with airlock-type doors. Red lights were flashing above each of the sealed labs.

"Casey, these guys were doing bio-weapons work. Look at the signs. The level-four contamination suits and the decon facilities. My God, what have we stumbled on?"

The last laboratory was sealed and the airlock wheel bashed out of shape sealing the occupants inside. Casey looked through the window and shuddered.

"Walker, I've found the researchers and missing staff." He stepped back to let her take a look. Her gasp and choking words told him she'd made the same connection. Someone had herded them into the lab, shot up the sealed refrigeration units and then sealed them inside.

There was a note taped to the door above the mangled airlock wheel with a flash drive taped to it. Someone had sent a message. Casey scanned the note written on a piece of notebook paper, grunted in approval, and then handed the note to Walker and spoke into his comm unit. "This is Casey, get a tech with a laptop to my location ASAP. Do not, I repeat, do not open any doors in the lab area."

"Casey, the note, it's from him. 'Load flash drive. Do not open any labs. Nuke this place. Drake, NSA'. But where is he?"

The teams all assembled in the hotel lobby, compared notes, finalized their demolition charges and then extracted by C-22 Osprey. Spanish Shoals would be 'leased' to the US Navy for weapons testing and a warning issued to stay away. Sometime during the night a specially equipped Air Force cargo plane dropped a FAE device and incinerated the surface of the small island.

Other than a note and his personal affects, there was no sign of Agent Charles Drake, NSA. It was as though he'd never existed.

* * *

Forensic experts identified all the bodies found including Daniel Shaw and Eve Pallas Shaw.

Sarah Walker reported for duty as the Deputy Chief of Station in Kingston, Jamaica. She did her job but limited any contact with embassy personnel to those functions required by her position or cover as the Assistant Cultural Affairs Officer.

John Casey, after considerable thought and much soul-searching (he called it that, Maureen called it 'fear') proposed to Master Chief Maureen Madison and the couple took their vows on the beach at Marathon Harbor. They honeymooned on Eleuthera in the Outer Bahamas just over the horizon from Spanish Shoals.  


* * *

_**A/N: Epilogue on its way. Maybe today if she quits nagging me to 'take it easy'. **_

_**APR 4/17/2010**_


	27. Explanations and Repercussions

NoMoreNextTimes26

* * *

**NSA HQ  
****FT Meade, MD  
****18 hours before the Spanish Shoals assault**

"Beckman, secure. Drake, where the hell are you? We'll send a team to extract you, Chuck. Where are you? We thought you'd gone down with the submarine."

"Nope. I'm pretty sure I'm on Spanish Shoals, General. But you can't extract me. You can't do anything with this place except…nuke it."

"Agent Drake, there's a team on it's way, right now, to secure the island and take any personnel prisoner. You only have to sit tight and wait to be rescued. Walker will be so happy you're alive."

"I'll be gone before they get here one way or the other. Stop them. I'm pretty sure I got all the Ring Executive anyway. This place is a bio-weapons production facility. I've left a flash drive of all their plans, agents and other facilities as well as the contents of their labs. I've sealed the bastards up in their own labs. Let them see how long it takes to die from their handiwork first hand."

"Drake, please. Don't do anything foolish. Walker and Casey are inbound from Key West and Master Chief Madison is surging out of Freeport under the guise of joint training exercises. Wait for them."

"Nothing's changed. Nothing's different. I'll just be postponing the inevitable. Warn them off. I don't know how well this has been contained. Their bosses were more interested in mortality rates than safety. General, I could be…infected with something and not know it. It's better this way. I'll include a brief note to close things out. I'm sorry, General. For all the trouble."

He hung up and that was the final contact with Spanish Shoals until later that day when the assault teams reported their findings.

* * *

**Windsong Hotel  
** **South Island  
****Eleuthera Bahamas  
****Three months after the Spanish Shoals 'incident'**

The hotel manager was very understanding and promised to have the Colonel's laptop looked at as soon as their tech came in. He only worked part-time and was currently off helping a family repair their roof damaged in the recent storm out on Windermere Island. He was the Central and Southern Islands resident handyman.

"Is he any good? I mean this is a government laptop and I signed for it. I just need to be able to check my email and take the occasional teleconference. I really don't want to let it out of my sight. When's this geek wizard of yours due back? I'll bring it to him then."

He'd taken an almost instant dislike to the effeminate manager with his limey accent. Reminded him of that douche bag, Cole Barker. Casey still blamed him in part for Chuck's death. If he hadn't killed the original mission, he might still be alive and Walker wouldn't be such a bitch to deal with when he had to.

"I think he prefers 'Nerd', Colonel, although I don't quite understand the distinction. Jonah will be here around two or so. He really doesn't have a set schedule. He comes and goes depending on the work. I've left word for him at the Palmetto Sound post office. He checks there for messages. And he's really quite good. He maintains our servers and network for the Island Hotel Association."

"Haven't you people ever heard of cell phones?" Casey hated high tech stuff but admitted to being addicted to his new phone Maureen had given him as a wedding present.

He still carried his NSA phone but carried 'hers' too since she used it to call him…all the damned time, it seemed. And he looked forward to every call, although they were together now on their honeymoon and wouldn't use it as much, if at all, until they got back to their respective duty stations.

He left the lobby with the manager's promise of a page and went in search of his wife. He rolled the word around on his tongue and broke into a most unusual smile. He was incredibly happy and it seemed to manifest itself in everything he did, including his job as Chief of Staff for the irascible General Diane Beckman. Even she seemed more agreeable, although he was sure it was his imagination.

* * *

**NSA HQ  
****FT Meade, MD**

She wasn't agreeable. At this moment she was cursing a blue streak at one of her analysts. They'd finally broken the code to the encrypted flash drive Drake had left in the labs at Spanish Shoals and she was very upset with how long it had taken.

The first part of the list had been a file downloaded by Drake from the Ring server and it contained the names and postings of every Ring agent in the Western Zone of Operations, Ring-talk for pretty much the entire western hemisphere. She'd allocated assets to locate and arrest the traitors.

The second file was a listing of 'infection sites' for implanting or disbursing bio-weapons and the expected impacts, including casualty estimates. She'd shuddered when she'd seen the total, over 200 million in North America alone. The Ring counted heavily on air traffic to spread the diseases to Europe, Africa and Asia.

The third file was a list of the actual agents to be used: Ebola, Q Fever, Typhus, Smallpox, Cholera and several types of bubonic plagues and some she'd never heard of. That file had been forwarded to the CDC liaison for review and response.

The final file was a quick word pad file that simply said he was going off the grid and not to expect to hear from him again since he was sure the 'numbers were still falling' despite the infusion of the synthetic myelin via the implant. He thanked her, and that was what really had her upset, he actually thanked her for her consideration and patience in dealing with him in the past. He wished her well but asked that she not divulge the contents of his note to anyone else. He didn't have to specify who 'anyone else' was.

She hated feeling guilty and therefore she hated Charles Bartowski in his many personas. She'd let him get close to her, work his magic on her shields and become a 'person' not an asset. She debated contacting Casey but decided to wait until he returned from his honeymoon. Then she would spread the guilt and feel a little better.

**US Embassy  
****Kingston, Jamaica**

"No, Cole, I've told you before, I have no desire to spend any time with you for any reason. And I'd appreciate it if you would quit having your embassy request my 'presence' at embassy functions. I told you before and I'm telling you for the final time, stay away from me. No dating, dinner, or lunch. Please, have some respect for me."

"Sarah, you're wasting your life, you're wasting a marvelous opportunity to see the side of Jamaica the tourists never see. Come with me, Sarah, come tour the Blue Mountains with me this weekend. We'll ride horses and just relax and unwind. We're just two friends in the 'business', relaxing and exchanging tall tales. Come on, Sarah. Being a widow without a dead husband…"

"Fuck off, Barker." The cell phone couldn't be slammed down as effectively as one of the old desk phones and for once she regretted the advance of technology. She knew his next assault would take the form of a letter of apology and a dozen or more of some exotic flower or an arrangement. It wouldn't help.

She was a widow in her own mind. The fact that there was no 'legal union' wasn't important. She was married where it counted: in her heart and soul.

* * *

**Windermere Island  
****Savannah Sound  
****Eleuthera, Bahamas**

Jonah Cole laughed when Irene Bromley tried once again to 'fix him up' with one of the nurses at the local excuse for a hospital. She eyed his leg but knew better than to inquire about the healing and get the usual 'I'm fine, Irene, you worry about your real patients'.

"Jonah, it's not good for a man your age to be alone. Let me introduce you to one of the visiting sisters, that way if you don't hit it off…"

"Sisters? You mean _NUNS_?" He wasn't familiar with the English way of calling nurses 'sisters'.

"Oh, Jonah, just wait until I tell that one at work. Sisters are what you call nurses. Honestly, you Yanks…" She wasn't surprised he didn't remember much of his stay at the hospital at Governor's Harbour. He'd been near dead when they fished him out of the ocean and brought him home. She'd tried to make sense of his ramblings finally piecing together his story.

He'd been sailing down towards the Turks & Caicos when he'd run afoul of some drug runners who took his boat, shot him and dumped him over the side. It was a common tale although his had a much better ending. He never told her the _why_ of his voyage and she figured a woman was at the root of it.

"I'm quite happy as I am, Irene. Go work your magic on one of the postmen. They're all bachelors."

It was a joke between them. The average age of the 'post men' was 55 and that was low only because of the addition of a new man just barely out of his teens. That also signaled the end of their banter since both knew each other's arguments well by this time.

He waved to her and then fired up his Vespa scooter and headed for Palmetto Sound and the post office. Maybe there was more work to be had. He lived simply but still had a hard time making ends meet since he was saving every penny in order to leave if he had to. He got free room and reduced board at the hotel association hostel but he knew he couldn't hang around here forever. He needed to move on.

He wasn't happy. He was miserable and he missed the hell out of Sarah Walker but knew it was better this way. No, he would take the high road and do the 'right thing'.

'_Bullshit, Chuck Bartowski. I've been silent long enough. You're an ass, Chuck. You're worried about her pitying you, feeling sorry for you and sticking around out of a sense of obligation. That's not how she operates and you know it.'_

'_Deuce, you know I'm slipping. You've caught me in an error more than once and saved me from a mistake. I can't rely on you forever. You're not going to __**be**__ here forever. Soon you'll be gone and I'll be alone and who will help me out then? No. This is better. I can move from place to place when I think someone's on to my slide and start over.'_

'_You wouldn't have to move, live this crappy life, if you just went to the phone exchange and called Beckman. Sarah loves you, Chuck. You're not being fair to her.'_

'_She thinks I'm dead. Let her mourn and then get on with her life. She'll forget all about me in a while. She's trained to do just that and you, especially you, know how that works. Just ask your 200+ agents.'_

He wasn't very attentive to his driving and he almost sideswiped another motorbike coming north. The driver turned around and gave him the finger before almost wrecking herself. Stupid tourist. At least she wore a helmet. Locals like Chuck all eschewed them as a sign of being an 'islander' as opposed to a tourist.

* * *

Chuck checked with the postmaster at Palmetto Sound and gathered his messages. Since he was spending the remainder of the day fixing a laptop, he planned on running some periodic maintenance on the hotel server and mooching a good meal at the hotel kitchen.

He never felt guilty about scrounging or mooching. They didn't know it but they owed him and that rendered him 'guilt-free' in his mind. They'd all be dead if it weren't for him. He wasn't being cocky, simply rationalizing his actions.

* * *

Maureen Madison was mad as hell and afraid at the same time. She had a feeling she knew exactly why her husband of one week had insisted on coming to Eleuthera for a month-long honeymoon. She didn't buy that 'you can dive on new wrecks, maybe find us enough Spanish booty to hold us well into our retirement' crap at all.

Bullshit! She was sure she'd just almost 'run into' Chuck Drake! It was too damned coincidental. Casey was running an op and Drake was somehow involved. It was too damned coincidental. Spanish Shoals was just over the eastern horizon and John Casey was working with Chuck on something secret. Damn him! Why didn't he trust her enough to share this?

* * *

John Casey was sitting on the verandah of the bungalow they'd rented for the honeymoon. He was trying to work up the nerve to face his wife with a truth he'd been hiding. He couldn't swim very well and he was afraid to go diving with her. Afraid she'd laugh at his antics. He'd barely passed training because of his fear of water. He was drinking scotch and smoking a cigar and trying to formulate a way of presenting this to his wife so he wouldn't look…weak and incompetent.

Maureen pulled up in front of their bungalow and whipped off her helmet and threw it at her husband almost hitting him.

"You son of a bitch. You lying sack of shit. Why didn't you tell me? Why pussy foot around the truth. Didn't you think I could handle it? Don't you trust me to have your back, Johnny?"

"How…how did you find out? No one knows. It's not something…"

"How did I find out? I almost got run over by the son of a bitch, that's how I found out! When were you going to tell me, John? Were you going to tell me at all? 'Hey, Maureen, I'm down here on a mission for Beckman. Me and Drake are going to…' Well? Say something!"

"Wait? Run over by who? You mean this isn't about me not swimming well? Chuck's dead or gone and I'm on my honeymoon in case you forgot last night and the wedding last week. Now, calm down and start at the beginning. I'm not on any damned mission, Maureen Casey!"

"What's swimming got to do with anything?"

"Um, that's what I've been worried about. That you'd find out I can't swim very well, just barely passed training and..."

She closed the distance between them and threw herself on his lap hugging him. "You mean you're not on a mission? You really can't swim well? Then you don't know who I…Shit, Johnny, Chuck's here. I just saw him on the north road. He was heading south so maybe he's hiding out in one of these hotels?"

"How sure are you that it's him?"

"We were two feet apart. He wasn't wearing a helmet. I was. The only difference was a tan, John. He's been here a while."

"Shit – shit – shit! Where's my damned cell phone?"

"Beckman, secure."

"Casey, secure. General, Bartowski's here, here on Eleuthera. Maureen saw him today on a motor scooter. It's definitely him. Instructions?"

Beckman perked up. Casey was rattled. The fact that he referred to Drake as 'Bartowski' spoke volumes about his state of mind. He was definitely rattled.

"Colonel, you're on your honeymoon. If you run into him, talk with him, get him to come in on his own. Things work better for all involved if it's his damned idea. I'll have Walker on the next available plan over there. Meet her at the airport."

"Yes, ma'am. Um, suppose he doesn't want to come in?"

"He's still the intersect and an agent under my authority. He'll come in or I'll have Walker drag him in."

"And if he spots us and runs?"

"Stop him, Colonel. Surely you and Mako can stop one slightly deranged and befuddled agent suffering from severe emotional shock and trauma?"

Beckman was giving Casey a cover if he needed it.

"I understand. Have Walker contact me."

The next call did not go as well as she'd hoped.

"Sarah Walker. Secure."

"Sarah, Diane Beckman. John Casey is in Eleuthera on his honeymoon. Since you didn't make the wedding…oh, to hell with it. Maureen spotted Drake on a motor scooter on Eleuthera. I want you to go get him. Bring him in."

"General, with all due respect, he made a decision on Spanish Shoals. I don't think he wants to come back, certainly not to me. I have a job to do here, General, and I have to get back to it."

"Agent Walker, you are still part of Team Intersect. If you want to keep your damned job you seem so comfortable in, contact Colonel Casey via cell immediately." She slammed down her phone, satisfied that things were finally going to straighten themselves out. She hoped.

* * *

**US Embassy  
****Kingston, Jamaica**

Sarah Walker was nervous. She'd blown off Casey's wedding using the job as an excuse when the truth was she didn't want anything reminding her of what she'd had and lost, certainly not a wedding. Now she had to deal with Casey and she knew he was going to be pretty pissed off. They'd been partners more than 3 years and she hadn't even responded to the invitation or sent a gift.

"This is Maureen Casey, secure." Sarah was startled. Casey never let anyone answer his phone.

"This is Sarah Walker, Maureen, calling from the embassy in Jamaica. General Beckman called me to bring in Agent Drake. Is he in custody?" Keep it professional. Keep it impersonal.

"John's out trying to locate him now. He's been on the island pretty much since the Spanish Shoals operation. He was pretty badly hurt and somehow made it close to shore and a fisherman picked him up. From what I've learned he told them he was sailing for the Turks & Caicos Islands and was pirated by druggers, shot and dumped over the side. A pretty good cover story. Very believable."

"No one called the Embassy? No one reported it to the police?"

"No. They're pretty laid back here. Don't have much to do with the main islands. These are the Outer Islands and they are pretty much a closed-mouth population. He's been working as a part-time computer tech and general handyman. Very well liked and very popular."

"I'll bet. Probably has a stable of babes to chose from every night." Sarah was hurt and it showed. She cringed when she heard her own voice and what she'd said. _Must watch my mouth_.

"Actually, he's been pretty much a recluse. He keeps a low profile but is willing to help out anyone with a problem. He gets food and a cheap room from the Hotel Association for keeping their systems and servers up and running."

"Humph. Well, I'll be there in the morning. I've got orders. I'll get a room at the hotel you're staying at. What's the name?"

The rest of the conversation dealt with logistics. She would be met at the North Airport.

* * *

**Windsong Hotel** **South Island  
****Eleuthera Bahamas**

Chuck sat at the tech bench in the server room looking over the guest's PC. Top of the line with all the bells and whistles. From the work order, the customer was having problems connecting with his office for teleconferences. He opened the port and hit the computer's auto dialer and waited, tinkering with the email program to diagnose what the problems were with it.

"Hello, Chuck." Beckman was surprised when instead of her Chief of Staff she saw the head of Chuck Drake. She schooled her features into something less threatening than she felt and waited for his response. She almost laughed at his expression of shock and dismay.

"General. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Shit, this must be an NSA tech or agent's computer.

"You tell me. You called for the conference. Thinking over your situation? Want to come in from the cold? You're obviously not dead from something on Spanish Shoals although swimming with a bleeding leg wound is not the brightest thing an agent should do." She talked with Maureen Casey briefly to advise her of Walker's probably call.

"I had no choice. If I were infected, the sea would handle body disposal. If not, then…I guess I didn't think it through. Under the circumstances, I think I should get a pass on that."

"So how did you escape? I saw the tapes of the helmet cams from the assault. Don't you think taking out all the personnel was a little bit extreme?"

"No. They were all monsters planning on killing most of this planet's people for…money, personal gain and power. They deserved to die. If they'd been successful, you'd be dead."

"Chuck, you need to come in now. We've made further progress on the myelin implant and the prognosis is for a stable future for you. You can have a normal life, not one of running and looking over your shoulder for someone who's no longer chasing you."

"I've still got this crap in my head, plus I was forced to take a Ring download. I had no choice in the matter. I have no idea what was in it. I could be a Manchurian Candidate in waiting. I can't risk it."

"We reviewed the download you were forced to take. It was little more than what was on the flash drive you left on the lab door. There's nothing to fear, Agent Drake, and everything to hope for. Sarah Walker will be there in the morning to bring you back. The Casey's are honeymooning on Eleuthera. It was all a fortunate coincidence."

Chuck disconnected the call. He didn't believe in coincidences. He thought of options but couldn't come up with anything other than 'run' and he knew it was too late for that. For the first time since waking up in the Ring lab he felt afraid.

He put a sticky note on the computer telling Casey he'd fixed it and to stay off the porn sites and then he grabbed his backpack and started to leave. He felt the sting in his chest and looked up at the sad face of Maureen Madison. The last thing he heard before collapsing was 'I'm sorry, Chuck'.

* * *

Maureen dragged and carried Chuck to their bungalow. She didn't want him disappearing between now and when Walker showed up to take him in to FT Meade. She really hadn't thought about what would happen when she showed up, just that she didn't want him running any more. He needed to be treated to either stop or delay the deterioration of the myelin in his system.

"John, you're sleeping on the couch tonight. I've got a hot young man in my bed. Sorry, old-timer. A girl's got to do what a girl's got to do." She loved it when he got flustered and apparently only she and Drake managed to do it consistently.

"What? Why? What do you mean 'a hot young man…'"

"I found Drake and tranked him. He's in our bed in handcuffs. I brought cuffs. You didn't know I had a kinky side?" She watched him blush. Sarah had told her all about Carina and Prague although not all the juicy details.

He smiled and then laughed. "You know he's going to hate you, us, when Walker shows her face here tomorrow. I think maybe we should let him go and see how long he can make it before she has him…well, marries him, I meant."

She laughed but then got serious. "No. He's too damned resourceful and he has too many friends who'd hide him or help him get away. This is best, John. And it's only for one night."

"Well, there's always the hammock on the verandah or the beach or the hot tub out back." He smiled at her expression but then watched as she changed from hunted to hunter.

"He's out for at least twelve hours, John, and it _is_ our honeymoon…" The hammock was where morning found them. Casey was almost late picking Walker up. Maureen stayed behind to keep an eye on Drake.

* * *

**_A/N: I lied without intending to. I reread the last chapter and realized I hadn't tied up all the loose ends and that you need to have somethings spelled out that were not crystal clear. Sorry. One more chapter after this and then the brief but riveting epilogue. I think. yeah, maybe, probably._**

**_APR_**


	28. Deuce vs Sarah Grudge Match

NoMoreNextTimes27

A/N: Some of you are growing impatient with the pace of the story so I compressed some events and saved a lot of writing. Hope you're happy. I'm not but then again, I am alive, that's something. Epilogue when I get up to it. Nothing else for a month. Real life handed me a turd last week and I can't find a clean end for looking.

T/N: I'll get the epilogue out as soon as I can. don't mind him. he's on the good stuff. Nicole.

* * *

**Windsong Hotel** **South Island  
****Eleuthera Bahamas**

He woke up, slightly disoriented, felt the after effects of the trank juice and then panicked. Captured! He tried to get up but couldn't. He was handcuffed to the wrought iron bed frame by his right wrist. For a nanosecond he considered gnawing through his wrist and leaving his hand as a gory prize for his captor. Stupid. Wasting time. It would take too long and he didn't think he had the courage to do it anyway.

He knelt on the bed and started pulling on the bed frame hoping something might break and he could escape.

Maureen Casey stood in the doorway to the bedroom with tears in her eyes. She thought he was dead, drowned escaping from Spanish Shoals, but here he was, alive and safe but panicking and probably hurting himself in his desperation to escape.

"Stop that, trainee! You're only going to hurt yourself. If you promise not to run, I'll let you go. You need to eat something. You've lost weight. And you need to drink something. Give me your word and I'll let you go, Chuck."

He nodded and she tossed him a small key. He opened the cuff from his wrist and then got off the bed searching. Maureen smiled and pointed to his left.

"The bathroom's through there." She smiled. Men.

He stepped behind the screen and then closed the door. She busied herself calling room service and straightening up the bed. Too quiet. "Chuck? Chuck, is everything OK?"

Damn him! The window was propped open and he was gone. _Stupid idiot! He'd nodded, not said a word. You know he splits hairs. He never gave you his word. You know how he is…or should know._

Chuck ran to the back lot of the hotel property and then walked into the employee hostel and grabbed his belongings, meager though they were, and stuffed them into a duffel bag. The Vespa was on the other side of the hotel building and he didn't want to run the risk of being snared by the Casey's. They must have gotten married…he laughed and felt better than he had in months. Good old John Casey in the clutches of the Master Chief. He was happy for his friends.

He scanned the front of the hotel and spotted a jitney preparing to take a group of departing guests to the airport. He ran over to it, got in, waved to the driver who was filling out his trip ticket, and drove off.

He was nervous and hid it by giving the guests a running commentary of the things they passed on the North Road on their way to the airport on the North Island. Pretty soon there was a lively exchange going on between Chuck and some American college girls who'd taken spring break in Eleuthera.

He was caught up in the moment and almost didn't notice the passengers of the southbound hotel jitney coming from the airport until blue eyes found brown. At that moment time seemed to slow as they passed. She looked beautiful and her smile was so brilliant but faded as their vehicles passed.

"Casey, that was him! That was Chuck driving that jitney. Driver, stop! Turn around. Follow that jitney!" She was twisted around in her seat watching as it drove out of sight. Her jitney kept going, the driver lost in his in his own little world, iPod playing. Sarah grabbed him by the collar and threw him out, grabbed the wheel and then crawled over the seat and slowed the jitney down and turned around.

Casey just laughed and then crawled up into the front seat. She was cursing the top speed of 20mph the jitney was capable of. She looked back in the mirror and saw the driver crawling out of the ditch and brushing himself off.

"Casey, in my bag, there's a trank gun. Shoot the son of a bitch when I pull along side." She'd come prepared. He was not going to get away. She had her orders. And she was angrier with him than she'd ever been before. Three months! They'd lost three months together. How many did they have left before he…?

His jitney was loaded and couldn't make its maximum speed and he saw the agents' jitney in the rear view mirror gaining on him. He had to make a decision and make it fast. He rounded a bend in the road and stopped, got out and told the brunette behind him to 'take over', grabbed his bag and sprinted over the road verge and down across the sand flats toward a group of beached fishing boats.

He should have given instructions to the blonde. The brunette couldn't start it and when she did, couldn't figure out how to get it in gear. Walker pulled up behind the stalled jitney and got out, trank gun in hand. The passengers spotted the pistol and started running away or screaming. It was pure chaos.

Figuring he'd run, she kicked off her heels and sprinted after him. She noticed his odd gait and wondered what was wrong with the leg he seemed to be favoring but put it out of her mind, concentrating on where she was going to send the first low-dosage dart.

Chuck risked a glance over his shoulder and saw his pursuer, blonde hair streaming behind her in a ponytail, skirt flying, long tanned legs flashing and was momentarily stunned by the beauty of the scene and tripped over a clump of sea grass and rolled down a dune. He was out of breath and his leg was killing him but he had to escape.

'_Chuck, stop and think, man. It's Sarah, not the Ring. She'd never hurt you. She loves you. Stop. Let her catch you. It's what you want and you know it.'_

'_NO! She'll just end up getting hurt when I go. It's better this way. I'll just…oh, crap…'_

'_Sweet dreams, Chuck. Get in the box. It's time I do what I'm supposed to do…you've met the criteria again.'_

Sarah was 20 yards behind and gaining when she saw Chuck flop boneless on the sand like a marionette with its strings cut. Was he hurt? Did his earlier fall hurt him somehow? She ran faster and was almost to him when he tried to stand and then staggered a few steps and turned to face her.

"Agent Walker, I'm Deuce 2.0; Chuck's…unavailable right now. Young lady, you and I need to have a chat. Put down that trank gun and listen to what I have to say. If you don't believe me when I'm finished, trank him, Sam."

The look on his face was like nothing she'd seen before and she thought she'd seen it all. He looked cold and totally indifferent and his tone of voice and the pacing of his words were different. Was this the intersect or was he finally losing it?

"First of all, I'm not certain just what I am. Chuck thinks he's finally cracked but I've been resident here since the Fulcrum upload. Sometimes we…talk, I guess is the best description, but I'm usually in background unless something traumatic happens and he's reached the point…let me put it another way. I keep him alive when he should be dead."

"Y – you're telling me you're the intersect? You can take him over any time? You control him, make him do what the intersect wants? What gives you the right to…"

"Stop right there, Samantha. I don't _make _him do anything. I sometimes do things _for_ him, things that keep him alive. I cut the throat of that bitch in Spanish Shoals when he refused to kill her and escape. Said he couldn't kill her in cold blood. He'd have died from that injection. So I grabbed a scalpel and killed her. His damned 'moral compass' gets in the way of the job sometimes. You know how it is."

"Yeah, but…"

"No 'buts', Samantha Jean, now be quiet and listen for a change. All you do is talk **_at_** him. You never really listen. If you're not going to listen, save him the trouble and OD him with that trank gun. He deserves better but I doubt he'll get it."

"I'll listen. And I'll never hurt him. Never. I love him, you – you – program!"

Something like a smile twisted his face. "Now that was just rude, Samantha Jean Riggins of Ashtabula, Ohio. Your mother raised you better. Now…"

"Wait, he knows my name, where I'm from… but he said he'd never…"

"And he didn't, Sam. He could have found out all about you from the very first but initially he valued your privacy, silly guy, but then later, well, he just wanted you to tell him, to share something of yourself. We both know how that turned out."

She blushed and looked at the ground. Daniel Shaw. Yeah. She knew exactly how it all turned out.

"So all that stuff on Spanish Shoals, that was all your doing?" She desperately hoped it was. The man she knew, ok, the man she loved, would never have been that heartless.

"Oh, no, not all of it. He herded those Ring scientists and researchers into the lab and sealed it, bashing the locking ring with a fire ax right after he'd shot out the refrigeration units and released their products. The only thing I did was 'make' him leave the flash drive and the note. The rest was all Chuck. I just kept him going after Shaw shot him. And 'suggested' he escape using the mini-sub. Turns out that was a bad idea. I should have taken over and made him wait for you. I'm sorry I didn't."

"So what now? Why is he so afraid to come back in? What's he hiding? Why is he running away from me?"

"He doesn't want to watch you fall apart when he does. It's that simple. He knows you better than you think, Samantha Jean. He doesn't want you in pain and he knows you won't be able to hide it from him and he dreads when love turns to pity and obligation. Oh, yeah, my boy knows you better than you think. And he's right, isn't he?"

"No. Absolutely not. Love is not an obligation. I'll never pity him, never feel obligated. I'll regret when our time together is through but I'm selfish. I want these past three months back. I want our time to be as full as possible. Why can't he understand that, Deuce? It's not that hard to figure out, is it?"

"You need to tell him that, convince him of that because unless you can, he'll run. He's very insecure. He's needy. You knew all that when you got involved. Tell him what you told him at Marathon. Keep telling him until he believes it. He wants to believe it but so many times in the past, Sam, you've let him down."

"That was then, this is now. Give him back to me, Deuce. It's time to start living again."

He fell in a heap and she was by his side in an instant. "Chuck, c'mon, sweetie, let's get back to the road. Casey's got a jitney and I have to explain to a driver why I threw him into a ditch."

She helped him up and then looked at him…really looked at him. His hair was longer, he had scars near the corners of both eyes and a poorly reset broken nose. She traced the scars with a fingertip and he grabbed her hand and pushed it away.

"Don't. Please, don't. I see that look in your eyes and I want to go back in the box to sleep until…"

She pressed her fingers against his lips, silencing him. "I was just trying to feel how much you've changed. Ever since the sub was sunk and I thought you were dead, I treasured the tactile memories of your face, sweetheart. Sometimes I could almost touch you, it was so real. Now I have the real Chuck and I'll have to relearn you all over again."

"So, you're here to take me back?"

"Yeah, for a little while. I'm stationed in Jamaica and once you're released I'd like you to come visit…hell, I want you to move in with me, get healthy, make love and babies and get married and live happily ever after. Please, Chuck, it's Samantha Jean Riggins of Ashtabula, Ohio who's asking you. Please?"

* * *

**Windsong Hotel** **South Island  
****Eleuthera Bahamas**

Chuck talked to the manager and got Sarah upgraded to a 'singles' bungalow at the end of the property. She led Chuck into the bungalow and told him 'sit down and don't move from this spot. There's something you have to do first before anything else.' She walked into the bedroom and brought out his laptop.

"I've been hauling this around everywhere I go in case I found you. Sit. Take your damned test, Chuck. Please. It's been three months."

He finished the test fifteen minutes later. He closed out the program and slammed the laptop shut. He stood up and looked at her and whispered, "I need a minute to myself. I'll be right back, I promise. I just need a minute or two…" She nodded and he left, walking down toward the beach.

She opened the laptop and pulled up his program, accessed the results log and read her future. He didn't need to be alone now. Not ever again. She closed out the program, closed the laptop and put it away. She changed into shorts and a tank top, slipped into sandals and went in search of her boyfriend.

He was sitting on the beach, forehead resting on drawn up knees. Just like California, she sat next to him, leaning lightly against him letting him know he wasn't alone and that she was there. Her hand found his and she squeezed it lightly.

"Chuck, we've wasted enough time. Let's get married, here in Eleuthera, today. Casey and Maureen are here to be our witnesses. Please?"

"Aren't you the least bit curious about the test results?"

"I think we should retire here, Chuck. Build a house out on some wind-swept promontory and spend our days in the sun and our nights making love. How does that sound? Too much like a line from a Harlequin novel?"

"I have to go back. You have your dream job. I'm not saying 'no', my love, I'm just pointing out the obvious issues to be faced and lived with. I'll just live in your bedroom in Jamaica – a kept man – until reassignment. I don't see much future in the NSA for someone with my bad attitude." She hugged him and laughed.

Everything would be all right now. They were together and it didn't matter what the numbers were, not any more.

"C'mon, big boy, I wanna practice for our honeymoon."

"What about Beckman, Sarah?"

"To hell with Beckman. She can find her own boyfriend."

* * *

A/N: I have an epilogue. Not sure if it's worth the time though. We'll see. Got to go. Later.

APR


	29. Epilogue

NoMoreNextTimesEpilogue

T/N: Finished. Show a little appreciation. lol. Nik

* * *

**Windermere Island Sound  
****Eleuthera, Bahamas**

**Five Years After Spanish Shoals**

The young woman rose up from the sea and turned her face towards the sun and pulled back and squeezed the water from her hair. She was tall and tanned and for a moment the man watching her was reminded of Stan Getz' '_Girl from Ipanema_'. The white bikini caught and held his eyes. She was beautiful and she was walking towards him.

"Hi. Mind if I sit here for a while?" Her voice was a pleasant contralto but it was her blue eyes that held him, more so than the fully filled bikini top.

"I'd like that. I'm Chuck." He looked at her, curious, and she smiled and leaned over and whispered, as she had almost every morning since they'd 'retired' here, "I'm Sarah. I'm your wife, your lover, the mother of your…"

"Dadeeeee!"

"And that's the sea urchin I delivered four years ago tomorrow. That's our daughter…" but got no further because her husband had jumped to his feet with a look of abject terror on his face.

"Chuck, it's OK, sweetheart. You don't need to…"

"Help me. Someone help me. It's a…sea monster. Help!"

"Dadeeee, I'm not a sea monster, I'm a girl."

"Same difference." He scooped up his little blonde mini-Sarah and ran carrying her into the surf, shifting her onto his back and dove through a wave. His stride still had that hitch in it that was caused by the large chunk of muscle he'd left on Spanish Shoals.

Sarah watched it all in total contentment. Life was so good to them now. Every morning when it wasn't raining or there wasn't a 'consult' in DC, they met on the beach after breakfast and her morning swim and went through the ritual they'd promised each other back in Marathon. The 'sea urchin' was a mixed blessing. She could no longer go with him on the rare mission he ran but he opted for 'consulting' more often than not these days. She still worried since no one could watch his back like she could. She'd transferred to the NSA's Protective Detail to watch it.

* * *

**Three Years after Spanish Shoals**

She had a solo mission in Europe approved by Beckman. She'd only be gone three days but Beckman had insisted that a suitable 'protective detail' be in place before she left. She'd requested a postponement but Beckman had been adamant about the need for speed in this exchange.

Sarah was heartbroken that she'd miss her daughter's second birthday and they'd celebrated it in Governor's Harbour the previous evening. Still, it wasn't the same even though she knew the little urchin wouldn't realize the significance other than 'Mommy go bye-bye'.

Her husband, well, that was another thing entirely. He'd gone off the rails, as Casey often said, telling Beckman that his wife was not at her beck and call but at his. Beckman had laughed, telling him to get a grip and not to forget to take his blood pressure medicine. It was a running joke between them.

"Sarah Drake, when your contract expires, that's it. The end. You're a mother and wife now and that takes precedence." It was one of their bitterest arguments, and they'd had a few since getting together after Spanish Shoals, and one of the few times he'd deliberately slept apart from her. The next morning he'd given her an ultimatum that boiled down to 'choose: CIA or us.'

He'd put her in a corner. She didn't like being given ultimatums and it showed in her attitude. The days after Beckman had assigned her the exchange had been tense and even Maura had noticed. "Mommy sad, Daddy sad, why?"

_How do you tell a 2-year old that her mommy and daddy might split up? You don't. You lie. It's your best spy quality. You lie better than most._

"Mommy's just sad that she'd going to be gone on a trip and Daddy's sad that you guys can't go with me, that's all. Now, give mommy a big kiss and say g'night to your daddy. It's bedtime."

He was at her bedside when she regained consciousness in the hospital in Berne. He'd been there the entire eleven days she'd teetered between life and death. He looked haggard and hadn't done much in the way of eating or sleeping. He looked terrible. He looked wonderful.

"OK, Chuck. I'll retire at the end of this contract period. You win."

"No, Sarah, _we_ win."

* * *

**6 Months After Berne, Switzerland**

"Sarah Drake, secure."

"Sarah, John Casey. Pack a bag. Bring the urchin. A helicopter will be at North Island airport by the time you get there. You'll be met in Miami. The team was in France, Sarah. Maureen's flying down now from Marathon in the same chopper and will watch Maura for you at your place in Eleuthera."

No spy or spy's wife ever really got used to the notion that her loved one's life could end in some God forsaken place without a name or without good reason, but it happened. Sometimes all they got was a letter from an Agency; sometimes they'd get nothing at all.

"What can you tell me, Casey? Is he…?" No one wants to say the word as if avoiding it makes it not true, will somehow change what has already happened.

"He and Rico met a French couple when they were working Operation Ransack and really hit it off. Simone called Chuck and told him that they'd stumbled onto a Ring sleeper cell and that the leader had passed her husband some documents and a load of flash drives with encrypted files. She wanted to buy herself a free pass. She asked Chuck to come and meet with them."

"He told me about the French agents. If I remember correctly, they were expecting their first child."

"Yeah. So anyway, Chuck and his team went to meet them with Beckman's blessing. Nothing more than a meet & greet and an exchange of data. Chuck hoped to meet with the Ring operative and arrange a safe conduct back to America for her."

"Casey, what's happened to my husband?"

"They were ambushed. All but Frazier on the team is gone and Chuck's hurt. Head injury is the worst and what's got the docs at Ramstein up in tizzy. I'll meet you in Frankfort and we'll go to the military hospital together. He's unconscious but not in critical condition, just unconscious."

"I'll see you there, Casey. Thanks for sending Maureen." Maura loved her Auntie Maureen and Sarah felt grateful that she and Chuck had such good and loyal friends.

* * *

**Ramstein Air Force Base Hospital  
Ramstein, Germany**

It had been a rough flight for Sarah Drake. Now she knew how her husband had felt on his flight to Switzerland. She understood a lot more now than she did then.

Casey had picked her up at the base's government hangar and they'd been driven to the hospital. Casualties from Iraq and Afghanistan had been treated in the hospital and stabilized for evacuation back to US hospitals and the staff was excellent.

She'd called Maureen and checked in about her munchkin and got to talk with her for a few minutes. Sometimes her daughter seemed wise beyond her years and prattled on about all the things Sarah needed to hear to take her mind off the reason she wasn't cuddling up with her daughter instead of 'Auntie Maureen'.

Chuck's doctor met her in the hallway outside his room. Casey put an arm around her to steady her as the doctor droned on and on in medical babble. She finally sidestepped the doctor and walked into her husband's room and back out again, white-faced and with her hands over her mouth as if trying to keep a scream from slipping out.

A military chaplain in priest's vestments was giving her husband the Last Rites. She hadn't even wondered about Chuck's religion. It had never come up although he had nagged her until the urchin had been baptized.

Trembling and suddenly very cold, she fixed the doctor with her best intimidating stare. "Exactly what is the nature of Agent Drake's injury and what are you doing about it? Casey, I thought he wasn't in critical condition and yet there's a priest giving him the Last Rites. I want explanations, _now_, gentlemen." She nodded to the Chaplain as he left and then stalked into her husband's room. She made a bee line for the chair beside his bed and clutched his hand in hers.

"Mrs. Drake, your husband was shot in the upper left chest and the bullet was removed without further complications. Total recovery is expected. He was very lucky. The head injury was from striking his head on something when he fell. The surviving agent carried him to their vehicle and stopped the bleeding and called for an extraction."

"Damn it, what's wrong with him?" Casey put a hand on her forearm, keeping her from reaching for her weapon. He knew her. A frightened Sarah Drake was not one to trifle with.

"We don't know. He won't respond to stimuli but he's not in a coma. We just don't know. I've scheduled him for transport to DC. They have the best brain injury specialists and psychiatrists around."

She had an idea. "Fine, doctor. Thank you. You may go now. Casey, stay, please."

When the doctor left, Sarah looked at Casey and asked, "Ever seen the Exorcist, John?"

She laughed at the look on his face. So Chuck-like. She wasn't exorcising a demon, she was trying to bring Deuce to the surface for a little one-on-one.

"Deuce, it's Sarah Drake, Chuck's wife. C'mon, Deuce, you're in there. Talk to me, girl friend. I need to know what to do."

Casey paled and looked at his former partner. What the hell was 'Deuce' and what…

A strangled voice muttered, "Talk, now she wants to talk. OK, but a little water and cut the lights." She brought a glass of water and a straw to her husband. Casey turned off all the lights and opened the blinds a bit.

"Sarah, he's in the box. It was horrible. They'd…the Ring…Simone, Henri, their little girl, all dead. Not easy deaths. They wanted information. Two Ring operatives, man and a woman. Shot Chuck then shot Fergie, another outside, sniper, took out the others."

"Woman was going to shoot Fergie again. They only wanted him but Chuck shot them both then crawled into the box and…"

"Shhh, we know the rest. It's OK, Deuce. He's safe. You're both safe now. Can I talk to him? Please?" She was whispering, trying to calm down the thing that occupied her husband's consciousness.

"No, Sam, he won't talk. The little girl was…he won't talk. He won't talk to me, either, Sam. He hit his head somehow. The implant – the implant is broke, Sam. He got all the myelin at once. Messed us up. Time will heal us. Talk to him, Sam. Take him home. Make him quit. We're dying, Sam. Make him quit." Deuce whispered the last few sentences and then was quiet.

"Chuck, please, talk to me, sweetheart…I need you, Chuck, please. The munchkin's with Maureen and I'm going to take you home as soon as I can. No more missions, Chuck. I'm sorry about your friends and their baby. You can't bring them back and it wasn't your fault. _Your _baby needs you. She needs her daddy. Please come back, Chuck."

* * *

There were more conversations with Deuce when Casey had other things to do. It made him very uncomfortable and Sarah could see the wheels turning in his head. He thought Chuck had finally snapped and was insane. He'd told the General as much during an update. They'd discussed options but neither felt ready to make a decision yet.

Maggie Ferguson was going back to the States and stopped by to check on her team leader. Sarah had given her some privacy but Casey made her listen to the surveillance tape of the conversation. After Deuce appeared, he'd wired Chuck's room for audio and video.

"Hey, Chuck, it's Maggie. Don't get up. Just…I'm sorry, Chuck. Really, really sorry. I should have gone in first. You would have been able to run, maybe warn the others but…any way, thanks for pulling me out of there and I'm sorry about your French friends. I guess I'm saying it wasn't your fault, it wasn't anyone's fault but the Ring bastards and they paid for it. I'll…I'll see you Stateside, Chuck. Hurry home."

They watched the tape. Sarah teared up at the tenderness exhibited by the younger agent but didn't think it was necessary to watch the tape and said so.

"Watch, Walker. Watch Chuck." When Ferguson walked out, Chuck started to cry and rolled over on his side away from the camera. Casey advanced the video feed and they saw Chuck get out of bed and stagger to the window and try to open it.

"He's not catatonic. The docs are wrong. He's hiding, waiting for a chance to run. I don't know what he's thinking but I think it's time to go home, Sarah."

"No more missions, John. He's done. His scores…tell Beckman it's '80 and dropping'. She'll understand. Tell her 'I want my 50 years'."

* * *

**Windermere Island Sound  
****Eleuthera, Bahamas  
****_SIX _Years After Spanish Shoals**

She stretched and almost purred. He'd given her a body massage, a full body massage with fingertips, hands and finally, when she could stand it no longer, his tongue…ooooh. Making love with him was a constant series of very pleasant surprises since each time seemed like the very first time.

"Chuck, Chuck…hey, lover, it's a brand new day. C'mon, Chuck, wake up and shower and then…"

"No. Wanna sleep. Some one kept me up way too late last night. The horniness of the second trimester has taken hold of my wife. I need to sleep and recover. Getting old isn't fun, Sarah Drake. It's a pain in the…everywhere."

She laughed and kissed him good morning and got up to wake the urchin and start another day of the rest of their lives. She knew she'd never get the 50 years they'd promised each other but she'd settle every morning for just one more day with him. Just one more tomorrow, that's all she wanted because soon enough there'd be no more next times.

* * *

_**A/N: Hope you liked it. Nah, don't care.**_

_**APR**_


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